


Be a Dragon

by Lunagrape



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anti-season 8, Arya Stark has a personality, Canon Dialogue, Catharsis, Cersei x elephants, Characters thinking beyond tomorrow, Common Sense, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Daenerys Targaryen-centric, Fuck Sansa, Fuck Tyrion, Gendrya - Freeform, Jon Snow knows words and how to use them, Jonerys, None of this destiny bullshit, Season 8 Rewrite, actual dialogue, cannon compliant - sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23486512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunagrape/pseuds/Lunagrape
Summary: I have this other fic where I'm fixing everything from season 7 onwards. This is the fic where I'll take out all my hatred for season 8!Sansa and the rest of the nonsense that was fed us by the final season. I'll mostly be following the events of season 8, but the character will actually use common fucking sense.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Grey Worm/Missandei, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Tormund Giantsbane/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 294
Kudos: 448





	1. Chapter 1

"The people here are colder than the weather," Missandei commented as she brushed Daenerys' hair. "Ser Jorah did warn us that the Northerners are a notoriously stoic people. They are like their keeps. Cold on the outside, but warm and unflinchingly loyal on the inside. I just need to prove to them that I am worth their loyalty."

Daenerys could practically hear Missandei's disapproving nod. "You disagree." she sighed. Silence. "I just think.." Missandei was hesitating. Daenerys knew she was balancing the line between confidante and handmaiden, and she wished she knew how to make her dear friend understand that she didn't want her to hold her tongue against her because of rank. Missandei was the one person in this world who was the most dear to her, but she sometimes feared that she didn't know that. They were after all fighting a war, and one of Daenerys' greatest fears is that something would happen to them without Missandei knowing for sure how much Daenerys' valued her.

Then Missandei found her words again. "I just think they didn't show you the respect fitting their Queen. And even if you weren't the Queen, their behaviour isn't befitting that of allies." Daenerys couldn't argue with that. "I agree." she said and after Missandei hand on her shoulder, Daenerys put her hand on hers, squeezing slightly. "Your hair is ready, Your Grace, shall we down to the gathering?" Daenerys nodded and stood up, turning so that she could look her friend in the eyes. "There's something else as well. I saw some of the Northern soldiers looking at you and Grey Worm. You will tell me, if they ever behave dishonourably against you? Missandei, promise me. I can handle the way they look at me, after all, I am a conqueror, and my house has committed atrocities against theirs, but I cannot condone them treating you unfairly because you're Essosi."

Missandei looked a bit taken aback at first, but seeing the honesty in her Queen's eyes, she closed her mouth, held back any protests that had formed in her head automatically, and nodded solemnly. "I promise, Your Grace." "Daenerys!" "I promise, Daenerys."

* * *

In the great hall, Daenerys was seated at Jon's left. It made sense, she supposed, for him to be in the center considering how he was their chosen leader. Although she had a rightful claim on this land, the last 7 years had taken a toll on the region, and the North had declared themselves independent from the rest of Westeros twice. They did not consider themselves part of the Seven Kingdoms that she had come to reclaim. They did not feel any allegiance to her family, and as far as she's understood it, quite a few of them considered her directly responsible for her father's crimes. Should she return the favour and deliver justice for all the years she had to live on the run, courtesy of their king? Daenerys felt disheartened by the hate in the eyes of the people surrounding her. Missandei had been right. This was not a way to treat an ally. 

"But you're _not._ Are you? You left the North a king, and came back- a I'm not sure what. A lord? Nothing at all?"

The young girl speaking was addressed as Lady Mormont. Mormont... Jorah's cousin? 

"It's not important." Jon replied impatiently. Probably eager to get on with preparations for the war that was coming rather than discussing what he apparently thought was inane discussions about rank and titles. Although Daenerys understood and appreciated how focused he was on the practicality of the war, it astounded her to see how little understanding he had for the ramifications of politics.

"Not important? We named you King in the North!" 

Lady Lyanna Mormont was little, but it was clear she commanded great respect, judging from the cheers coming from the rest of the court every time she spoke. Daenerys smiled. She didn't know the Lady privately, but she felt pride for her as a fellow woman in leadership.

"You did, my lady. It was the honor of my life. I’ll always be grateful for your faith. But when I left Winterfell, I told you we need allies or we will die. I have brought those allies home to fight alongside us. I had a choice, keep my crown or protect the North. I chose the North."

"Lord Snow is right," Daenerys said, standing up. She had seen Tyrion stirring where he was standing, and realising she was in no mood for a trademark Tyrion speech, she decided to speak up herself. "He was King when he came to my shores on Dragonstone and demanded my armies and my dragonglass. He was King when he went north to catch a wight to convince Cersei and I that the threat was real. He was King when he got stranded behind the wall, surrounded by the Night King's army. He was King when my dragons and I flew in to rescue him, a battle in which my dragon Viserion fell to the Night King's spear. And he was King on the boat from Whiteharbour when I pledged my armies to fight against the monster who had murdered my dragon." At that last comment a few of the Lords suddenly started murmuring amongst themselves. Obviously the tale they had imagined themselves were quite different. Good. Now there wouldn't be any misunderstandings.

The look on Lady Sansa's face had managed to become even more pinched. Daenerys felt honestly surprised. She hadn't thought that to be possible.

"After I had pledged myself to the cause, Lord Jon Snow bent the knee to me and recognised me as the true sovereign of the seven kingdoms. I am here now, with the greatest army the world has ever seen, and two dragons, and I will do my best to show you that Jon Snow's last decision as King in the North was a good one."

More murmuring. Daenerys sat down again and looked at Jon, smiling reassuringly. He smiled back. Hesitantly. What was wrong? This wasn't the Jon Snow she had come to know. This Jon was hesitant, unsure of himself, and.. cold. So cold. Just like the weather.

"May I ask," Lady Sansa's voice rung out and broke the silence. "how are we meant to feed the greatest army the world has ever seen? While I ensured our stores would last through winter, I didn't account for Dothraki, Unsullied and two full-grown dragons. What do dragons eat, anyway?"

Daenerys diverted her gaze from Jon to his sister. The woman was a constant surprise to Daenerys. If she had come to the keep uninvited, savagely murdered her entire family by impaling them and they were now having a candlelit dinner amongst the impaled corpses, Daenerys would have understood the animosity in the woman's voice, but all she had done was delay the war for her homeland in order to save the Lady's home. How horribly insulting, right?

"Whatever they want."

Looking cooly at the Lady, Daenerys put on her most diplomatic smile. "My boys usually hunt for their own food. Of course, we have brought goats and other livestock in case your forests are completely depleted, my Lady? As for my armies, we have been at war for a while. Sure, the last months we've had a constant home at Dragonstone, but we haven't forgotten that any marching army needs rations. My people are taken care of. We can't just assume that when someone invites us to their home because they need our martial help that they'll be expected to feed us too? Of course, that would be the standard in Essos, and as I had to grow up there due to the usurper who stole my home and sent assassins after my brother and I, I can't be too certain of the Westerosi traditions. I am of course, more than willing to learn. After all, this is my realm."

Lady Sansa looked like she was ready to spontaneously combust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning in doing 1 chapter=1 episode, but then I got sleepy. And I promised you all that the first chapter would be out today, didn't I?
> 
> By the way, for those of you who want to do the math: I'm writing from Norway, so that is GMT+1, and I usually post around midnight. Some people like to read before they go to sleep, I like writing and editing.
> 
> Anyway, any comments are more than welcome. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask. I do have the filter on where I need to approve all comments, but that is primarily so that I can silence trolls.


	2. Stay a thousand years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horses are ruined forever.

After the salty battle of words in the great hall, Daenerys had retreated to her chambers at first. She had exchanged some banter with Missandei and they had joked about the Northerners' rather interesting perspective on honour and ally treatment. It was a good moment. It served to distract Daenerys from darker thoughts like the loss of Viserion, the fact that the army of the dead was marching toward them, the fact that said army had resurrected her poor boy and was using him as a slave against her. A dragon is not a slave. But Viserion was. Her poor sweet boy, dragged from the free sky and into undead servitude.

"The Lady of Winterfell is a problem," she reminded herself out loud. Missandei simply nodded. "It's like she believes herself to be the rightful Queen, and that you are simply a thief, coming to steal her righteous crown." Daenerys raised an eyebrow in agreement. " Well, from a certain point of view, you can argue that she is right." she said, making Missandei look at her with the kind of face she made when she knew that her friend was about to set someone in their place.

"300 years ago, the Starks did rule the North, the fact that my family ruled it 21 years ago means nothing in comparison," Daenerys noted, her voice dripping with sarcasm, causing Missandei to giggle. "She and her family has been persecuted the last 5 years. How could I possibly understand what that's like, having only lived in exile my entire life?" Missandei giggled loudly and nodded encouragingly. Daenerys was about to bring up another comparison when suddenly someone knocked at the door. 

"Enter!" Daenerys declared, allowing herself to keep her current mood visible rather than hiding it behind layers of decorum. An Unsullied soldier named White Gnat opened the door. The Unsullied soldiers had been trained for years to not show any emotion and simply be robotic minions to whoever owned them. Daenerys had hoped they would shed their slave names and pick names that would give them pride, or reclaim the names they had had before they had been captured. But being free meant making your own choices, and therefore she had respected their choices to keep the slave names they bore when she helped free them. Every day these brave men faced the new life where they had all this freedom, but still struggled with the conditioned mindset the slavers had forced on them. Every time an Unsullied soldier allowed himself to let his own personality, and his own opinions, shine through the shell she was happy for them. Today though, White Gnat's face showed concern, and Daenerys' initially happy mood dropped like a lead ball. "What has happened?"

* * *

Having gotten dressed in a hurry, Daenerys was now making her way across the Winterfell courtyard towards its main gates. Jon Snow must have seen her because he suddenly materialised at her right side. His shoulders were hung, and his face showed conflict, but she didn't have time for his complications now. He had been cold and strange ever since Winterfell had come into their sight, and Daenerys' main concern right now was her sons.

Jon made signs to start talking several times, but stopped himself every time. He probably had difficulties finding the right words, and she couldn't fault him. When it came to his behaviour she was quite at a loss for words herself. It was obvious the man knew exactly how he was failing her too, judging by his posture, but he had to find the words himself. This wasn't something she would help him with. He had to admit it.

"We haven't seen much of each other since we came here," he finally offered. Daenerys huffed. You'll have to do better than that, Lord Snow. "You have to understand, the Lords of the North.. They chose me. I owe them for that allegiance, and now, having bowed to a southern Queen, they feel like I've betrayed them."

Daenerys rolled her eyes. She didn't even care if he saw it. Your sister doesn't like me." She stated, matter-of-factly. "She doesn't know you. If it makes you feel any better, she didn't like me either when we were growing up." he offered as some kind of defence.

At this, Daenerys stopped abruptly and turned to face him. "She doesn't need to be my friend but I am her queen. If she can't respect me, how can I trust her as Noble Lady to lead my people?"

Jon had shifted uncomfortably at first, but he hadn't expected that last comment. "Are you planning on using her in combat alongside your troops?" Gods, how did someone this stupid wind up in a position of power? Silly question, she knew, her father had after all been king.

"I am the rightful ruler of all of Westeros, the people of the North are my people, and thus under my protection. When the war against the dead is won, I will be going south again. I need to know I am leaving the people of the North in capable hands; hands I can trust to rule them justly in my name." 

Jon Snow had nothing to say to counter this so she turned to keep walking and continued speaking as she did.

"Cercei let the Boltons be Wardens of the North. They were an old noble family going back thousands of years. Yet, surely we can agree that they, and a position of wardenship of the northern populace was a bad match, is that no right? I know the Starks have held the wardenship ever since Aegon's conquest, but I'm not here simply to leave things as they have been done before. I am here to do what is best for my people. Not just the nobles. How can I be certain that Sansa will enforce my laws if she does not respect my authority, and how then, can I justify giving her the wardenship? It wouldn’t be fair to the small folk."

While the weight of Daenerys' words milled through Jon's head, a Dothraki rider came towards them. He had been dressed in furs and skins according to the true Northern fashion. While the Westerosi Northerners had been frostier than a wight's fart towards her Essosi troops, the people from Beyond the Wall had welcomed them and helped them adapt to the climate. She had a feeling their cultures were a bit more alike than those who liked to live in walled cities and stone keeps. 

_"How many today?"_ She asked him in dothraki. _"Only eighteen goats and eleven sheep, Khaleesi."_ he responded. Daenerys frowned, but nodded to show that she had understood and he rode off. "What's the matter?" Jon asked, probably noticing that her thoughts had changed topic. She looked him in the eyes for a second and then set off again, more determined than ever. "The dragons are barely eating."

Soon they came to a clearing where Rhaegal and Drogon were resting around a charred spot covered in equally charred bones. The sight of her boys lifted her spirit slightly, and she caught herself searching for Viserion before she remembered. She could search forever. Her sweet boy would never come back. Not as himself anyway. The guilt and grief knotted in her stomach, and she swallowed a cry and focused on her two remaining sons. 

Rhaegal purred at the sight of her and came closer, she met him, holding out her hand to pet his snout as he came closer. "What's wrong with them?" Jon asked, and Daenerys looked up at her good boy as she stroked his scales. "They don't like the North." A beat. "Then, the North doesn't like them either, so maybe it's a reciprocal feeling." She turned to look him in the eyes, hoping she had made her point, and that he had finally got it. HE had been the one requesting them to come. HE had been the one, urging that they were vital for the entire North's survival. So why did he expect her to accept such treatment from him and his family now that she was here?

"At first, I thought it was grief. For Viserion." She said, changing the topic and returning her attention to her son. At least that he had the decency to show regret for. Good. Considering it was their idiotic mission that had cost her son his life and freedom. 

"For a time in Meereen, I wasn't the best mother. I was too caught up in the politics and welfare of my people to remember that dragons need special care in order to coexist with humans. Drogon torched a child while hunting, and as a preventive measure I locked Rhaegal and Viserion up under the Great Pyramid. I would have locked up Drogon too, had I been able to find him. It was both for their protection and for the protection of my people, but it is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do: putting chains around their necks and turning my back to them as I heard them cry for me. For a while there, in the dark of the dungeon, Viserion was all Rhaegal had."

She scratched him tenderly under the eye, whilst letting the weight of what she had just admitted, as much to herself as to Jon, sink in. To the right, Drogon shifted impatiently and huffed, demanding some attention for himself. Daenerys smiled as her biggest son brought her back to the present. He was right. If she looked back she was lost. She could learn from her mistakes, sure, but she couldn't let herself drown in regret over what had passed. 

Daenerys climbed up on Drogon's back. A nice long flight would be perfect to clear her mind now. She looked down to see that Rhaegal was sniffing at Jon curiously. The dragons had a strange familiarity to Jon that she hadn't seen in anyone else. Maybe there was a trace of old Valyria running through him? The Starks had never intermarried with her family, but maybe his mother had. After all, the only one who knew her identity was buried in the Winterfell crypt. "Go on." she said good naturally, deciding to try and see where this could lead. Jon looked up at her, surprised. "I don't know the first thing about riding a dragon." 

"No one does, until they do."

Jon looked at her, clearly not expecting such an answer, but definitely not about to back down from the challenge in her voice. It was clear on his face that what she had told from the experience of ruling Meereen had made an impact on him, and that he would want to discuss it at a later time. But not now. Now was the time for what could be the ride of his life. Or.. "And what if he doesn't want me to?"

Daenerys smiled again. The same smile she had worn when they had said goodbye as he set off on the wight hunt. "Then I've enjoyed your company, Jon Snow." 

She then did her best to hold her laughter back as he clumsily made his way atop Rhaegal, the latter being the picture of patience. "What do I hold on to?" Jon called out from behind Rhaegal's wing somewhere. "Whatever you can," Daenerys replied, curious to see if Rhaegal would accept him. Letting people pet them was one thing, but it took a special kind of acceptance for a dragon to bond with a rider. 

Once he had made it somewhat onto Rhaegal's back, the dragon chittered and lifted his rear quickly, causing Jon to fall forward, seating him squarely on his Rhaegal's neck, right above his shoulderblades. As soon as he felt his rider to be somewhat secure in his seat, the great dragon chittered playfully and proceeded to lift off, patiently allowing his passenger familiarise himself with the motions.

Watching them, Daenerys smiled and urged Drogon to follow them. Him being bigger than his brother, they could have easily passed them, but Daenerys decided to hold back and watch as Rhaegal and Jon discovered how to move together. 

They flew past Winterfell and towards the Wolfwoods, Rhaegal would climb high and then nosedive, probably to show Jon just what he was capable of. The four of them flew calmly for a while before Rhaegal suddenly took another nosedive, this time into a frozen canyon. Playfully, they manoeuvred through the towering walls and sudden twists and turns until the canyon opened up and Rhaegal and Jon landed. Daenerys and Drogon landed close by them and watched as Jon rather competently managed to dismount. It was clear Rhaegal was much more willing to cooperate now. But why? Although she was curious as to how her dragon had accepted a northerner with no clear ties to Valyrian blood relations, she was happy her son now had a rider. This would give him a great advantage in the war to come, and less likely to repeat Viserion's tragedy.

"You've completely ruined horses for me," Jon chuckled as they met and walked away from where the dragons had landed together.

Daenerys giggled. He was right. No matter how much she had loved riding horses ever since Khal Drogo gifted her with her silver filly, there was something extraordinary about soaring through the sky, feeling the heat of your dragon's fiery breath beneath you, letting the beat of your pulses merge. She still enjoyed riding, but all they could do was leap and run, whilst with dragons you could command the skies. She stopped and took a look around her. The view was breathtaking. Everything around her was glittering white, as if painted with diamonds, and in the distance roared a spectacular waterfall that branched into several cascades. 

"We could stay a thousand years.." she noted, considering the remoteness of their location and the trickiness of how to get there, were one wingless. She looked at Jon's face, affection and desire welling up in her. When it had just been the two of them, she had been happier than ever. In his embrace on the ship, she felt safe from any assassin the usurpers in King's Landing might send for her, and free from the duty of her blood. In the bowels of the ship, with only him as company, they had simply been Jon and Dany; Daenerys Stormborn, the last dragon, had faded away and for once given her room to only herself. Now that she had met his family, she had a feeling that Jon felt this way too. ".. and no one could find us."

Her words were as much a prayer to herself and to Jon as it was a statement of the geography. It could all go away. Could be someone else's problem. They could stay here, in the spectacular northern landscape, and Tyrion or Sansa or someone else with the appetite could deal with the ugliness of politics. Lemontrees might have a problem surviving in the frost, but there might be room for a small cottage with a red door?

"We'd be pretty old." Jon remarked and came closer to her, snaking his arms around her waist. Again, she giggled happily. There were no one around for whom she had to put on a mask of composure. Out here alone with Jon she could simply be a woman in love. Particularly as Jon seemed to finally have returned to be the man she fell in love with: all warm and affectionate and attentive. The wolves of the Stark banner might be fearsome beasts, but to their own they were fiercly loyal and loving, and Daenerys was Jon's own; as long as he'd have her.

"It's cold up here for a southern girl." Jon stated matter of factly, but Daenerys knew it was just an excuse to pull her closer. "So keep your Queen warm." She murmured against his face as he pulled her in for a kiss. Her head spun with giddiness as his lips met hers and she melted in his embrace, their tounges dancing against each other. The kisses grew more fervent and desperate and Daenerys could feel Jon's affection grow beneath the layers of leather and fur. He must have missed this as much as I - she thought. Missed himself. Missed who he had the freedom to be with me, just as I did with him.

Suddenly he broke away, and Daenerys' bubble was instantly burst. A soft growling could be heard from behind them, and it dawned upon Daenerys that Jon was not as used to the proximity of the dragons and their ways of communication as she was. "Don't be afraid." she whispered, her lips brushing his jawbone as she worked her way down his neck, and soon he was back with her. All the worries of the world froze and fell to the ground like snow, and in this moment, the only thing that mattered was the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I have no idea how to use semi-colons. I’m just mimicking the way I’ve seen them used before. Do tell if I’ve used them wrongly 😅
> 
> And yes, adverbs are my jam.
> 
> Never showing the impact Viseron's death and subsequent enslavement had on Daenerys is one of the many great weaknesses of season 8 in my opinion. They really did not take the time to consider the human aspect of the series, just barrelled on with the Hollywood cookie-cutter, action, gore, slapstick, shock-value bullshit we've all grown to know and hate.
> 
> Is it obvious yet how much I hated just about every aspect of the last season?
> 
> Please, do not hesitate to share your opinions :)


	3. Prettier than her father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon considers the results of his relationship with Daenerys and ponders his own feelings on the matter.  
> Later, he and Sansa have it out about her behaviour lately.

Several hours later they had returned, and Jon had found that riding Rhaegal became easier with every moment. Through trial and error, he had learnt how to move to get the great beast to turn, how to recognize when the dragon himself found a certain move more advantageous and how to communicate back his own opinions.

Horses were about as interesting as shoes for him now.

They really had stayed for what felt like a thousand years. Once they had found release, clinging tightly to each other, under the shelter of a snow-covered fir, Daenerys had taken him flying again, teaching him the tips and tricks she had learnt through being Drogon's rider, and he had been able to work out the kinks with Rhaegal. Daenerys had even taught him some simple commands in Valyrian.

Jon knew there were books on the language in the Winterfell library. As a young lordling, Robb had been given lessons in the language of the old royal family, even though no one knew why, seeing as everything that had had to do with the Targaryens had been taboo while Robert was on the throne. It had been at the maester's insistence. Jon had a feeling it was because the man was a million years old, and never once considered changing his syllabus. As a young man he had had no interest in studies befitting a lord, considering he was planning on becoming a ranger with the Night's Watch, but now he found himself inspired and motivated to learn. Even though he was no longer King in the North, he might find himself as its warden, and in such a position, a highborn education could lend itself useful.

Only... He stopped in his tracks. Daenerys had said she expected _Sansa_ to learn to respect her or she wouldn't be able to leave _her_ behind as the Warden of the North. What did that mean for him? Was she, maybe, expecting him to come south with her? Jon's stomach dropped, then soared heavenwards in a Rhaegal- like manner as he worked through the steps of what this meant. Northmen rarely did well in the south, but if she meant for him to come with her, surely that meant that she wished for them to be together?

Jon had to confess, he hadn't thought things through that night on the ship when he knocked on her door, and he hadn't thought about it any of the following nights either. It was a blessing to just throw caution to the wind and follow his desires. He had been with Daenerys because he loved her, because he felt free to be himself in her company, not because he had any aspirations to be King of the Seven Kingdoms. 

The earth shook for a moment as the full weight of what all of this could mean crashed into his mind, and he had to shoot and arm out to steady himself against the corridor walls to prevent himself from falling over. 

He loved her and wished to be with her forever. There was nothing complicated about that.

Once, he had never dared to hope for a future with a wife and children, considering his bastard status, but he had since been crowned King, and even though his father was not here to witness it, Daenerys could legitimize him to spare the children the shame of bearing a bastard surname. Besides, she had worked so hard to restore her family to the throne, could the children not take her name?

It was rather unheard of, but then again, Dothraki screamers intermingling with wildlings and training alongside Westerosi lords for a common cause was also unheard of. Daenerys had said, in the throne room of Dragonstone when they first met, that she intended to break the wheel that oppresses the common folk. With her return to Westerosi shores, she was indeed planning on bringing quite a bit of change, and as the first _rightful_ Queen Regnant of The Seven Kingdoms, why couldn't some of that change apply to the safety and prestige of their children?

Personally, Jon couldn't give a fig about the children's surname as long as they were happy and loved, but he wasn't blind to the games that grown-ups play. He had, after all, grown up as a bastard, and it wasn't an experience he wished for anyone else. Least of all his own children.

Then it hit him like a punch to the gut. _I can't have children_. Daenerys was barren. Or at least so she had claimed. The witch who murdered her first husband- she had said. Jon clenched his fist, grieving the children he had never dared hope for and who were now vanishing like sand between his fingers.

Yes, loving Daenerys and being her husband would be uncomplicated. It was all the external factors that were problematic. Tyrion had said they were hoping to seal political alliances through marriage, and as the ex-King, still bastard of Winterfell, he might not be as good a barter chip on the political stage. Besides, the North was his home. What did he know of the southerners? Would they even accept a Northern King? Would he be able to be happy in the south, with all its complications and trickery?

It was the schemes and deceitfulness that had caused his father to fall, and if Jon went south, he would have to deal with the same political trap falls. Sansa was much more suited for those kinds of games, but he guessed that if he were to stay in a position of leadership; a position of power, he would have to learn to play too. He was by no means a green boy in that aspect. He had been playing ever since he stepped foot in Castle Black, but he had a feeling the southern court was a completely different mug of ale.

There was real temptation in following Daenerys' half-plea. They could take the dragons, fly off to some remote location where neither dead men nor the games of the throne could reach them. A groan escaped him. Of course, they couldn't do that. Maester Aemon had once said that _love is the death of duty, and duty is the death of love_ , and while duty compelled him to stay amongst his people and protect them as he had sworn, he would make damned sure there would be some space for him and his love as well. It couldn't be as black and white as that. If it were, what was even the point of living?

The world had stopped spinning, but he still felt like he had only scratched the surface of a whole sea of troubles. It was more than he could handle at present, and certainly, more than he could handle alone. He would have to discuss this further with Daenerys. She had probably done her own thinking on the matter and might be able to clarify certain things for him, and even if she didn't, she deserved to know his thoughts considering it all.

"Apologies, Lord Snow," it was one of Sansa's servant girls. Jon nodded to show that he was listening and that she wasn't a bother. "Lady Sansa requests your presence."

Again, Jon nodded and the girl went on her way. Jon coughed a bit to clear his throat, shook his head to clear his mind, and stood up straight before he made his way to Sansa's chambers. Once he came to her door he knocked and waited for her reply before he opened the door and entered.

Sansa was clad in her dark blue, velvet, wolf embroidered gown, and for once looked like she didn't wear 6 layers of mental armour and a 3 feet brick wall. She looked like her mother, but with less of a disapproving scowl concerning his existence. Wordlessly, Jon walked up to her. She was holding a letter and sighing. "Lord Glover wishes us good fortune, but he's staying in Deepwood Motte with his men." She said, her voice tired.

Really? Jon let out an exasperated groan. House Glover had left them to their own devices before, when they requested aid to defeat the Boltons, only to beat their chests loudly with loyalty once Winterfell was reclaimed. Now they were sticking their tails behind their legs like the ungrateful, disloyal cowards they were. "House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years. Isn't that what he said?" Jon growled, unable to contain his irritation.

"I will stand behind Jon Snow, he said," Sansa corrected him as she stood up. She walked to the middle of the room and then looked at him, pointedly. "The King in the North."

Jon sighed. This again? "I told you we needed allies."

"You didn't tell me you were going to abandon your crown." Sansa crossed her arms and waited. She considered herself owed an explanation. Jon just hadn't realised that what seemed obvious to him would be so difficult to conceive for her.

"I never wanted a crown. All I wanted was to protect the North. I brought two armies home with me. Two dragons." Jon looked down as he spoke. He didn't understand why he was to be made to apologize for having secured their best possible chance of survival against the Night King. Sure, the North would once again be under Southern rule, technically. But was it really such a great problem? If they were under Cercei's rule, he could see the problem. The woman was a sadistic, manipulative, power-hungry tyrant if Sansa's account of her was to be believed, not too unlike Daenerys' father. But in the hundreds of years before the Mad King, the Targaryens had ruled wisely, and the North, under Stark Wardenship had largely been left to conduct their affairs as they pleased. Under his father, the North hadn't been oppressed and forced to do things any different than they would have done anyway, so what was the difference between Jon wearing the crown or the mantle of Wardenship?

"And a Targaryen Queen." He looked up now. Sansa's verbal jab told him that this was more about petty politics than the actual welfare of the North. Perhaps Daenerys had a point when she stressed the importance of respect?

"Well think for yourself, Sansa. If you had the largest army the world had ever seen, if you had two dragons, if you had been chased across Essos ever since you were a little girl and the only way you could escape the assassins were to return to the home of your ancestors, claim your crown and eliminate the ones who had tried to kill you, would you simply give away those armies to a stranger who came knocking on your doors with nothing to offer in return? No, you would lay claim to what is yours, not only by principle but for your own safety. That is what Daenerys is doing, and considering what she is offering, I don't think the crown is too steep a price to pay. The North has fared fine under Targaryen rule before the rebellion, and it was fine under father, even if he was _just_ the warden of the North. She might be the Queen, but she has assured me that she intends to act in the best interest of her people, which include the people of the North, and isn't that what is most important in a ruler? How they treat their people, not the house they descend from?"

Sansa, mercifully fell silent. Perhaps saner heads had prevailed and she realised that what mattered now wasn't who called the shots, but rather that everyone survived? Then she opened her mouth and Jon couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"If who the ruler is isn't what is important, then why would she insist it to be her? If she really cared for the people, why is it so important for her to push her claim? She is not one of us, she doesn't understand the North or its people. Have you asked her? After the Night King is defeated, what are her plans for the North? Will she let us have our independence? We fought for it, we deserve it. We swore we would never bend the knee to southern tyrants again, but that is just what you have done!"

Jon didn't know whether to laugh or scream with frustration. "By the Gods, Sansa! Arya told me you're the smartest person she's ever met, but that leaves me to wonder what kind of half-wits she's been keeping company with all this time! Do you think we can beat the Army of the Dead without her? I fought them, Sansa. Twice. You want to worry about who holds which title, I'm telling you it doesn't matter. Without her, we don't stand a chance. She'll be a good Queen. For all of us. She is not her father."

Silence fell between them as Jon steadied his breathing. He had never talked like that to his sister, and he was contemplating whether he regretted it or not. On the one hand, he had found such harsh words to be necessary to get his message across, and he wasn't sure how he should have phrased himself otherwise. On the other hand, she was still a lady, and though she had faced ordeals her mother could never have prepared her for, she wasn't cut out for words like that.

Sansa was the first to speak up again. Her voice was steel clad in ice and silk, and her protective walls had shot up and stood strong and proud. "No, she is not." She almost spat. "She is much prettier." Jon clenched his eyes heard, to calm himself down and prevent much uglier words from spilling out. "Did you bend the knee to save the North, or because you love her?"

Jon whipped his head up and stared straight at her. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he growled, his voice low and his tone cautionary. She'd better choose her words carefully now. 

But Sansa didn't back down. Had he not been furious with her, he would have been proud to see her strength. He had heard some of the Northern soldiers style her as the Red Wolf, and that strength would aid her well as Warden of the North, if she ever learned to know the time and place and to come to terms with the new reality. "Daenerys is Queen of the Seven Kingdoms by right of birth. She is adored by her people, and she wants to do right by ours. She came to our aid beyond the wall when she could just as easily have let me die, and after seeing the Night King and his armies, she pledged herself and her armies to our aid. **That** , is why I bent the knee to her."

Sansa was fuming. "I did not endure what I did under Joffrey, under Cersei, under Ramsay, just to slip back into chains under another tyrant."

Exasperated, Jon rubbed the bridge of his nose and sat down in a chair. A waft of sulfur came up from his furs as he sat, a happy reminder of his flight earlier that day. That felt like years ago now. "And what, Sansa, do you know of Daenerys being a tyrant? It's not like you know her. Since she's been here you've hardly spoken a friendly word to her."

Sansa stood tall, righteous in her cause and determination. "I will never know her. A tyrant who burns people alive for disobeying her is not worth knowing. Have you forgotten how grandfather died? How can you condone such brutality?"

Jon blinked and leant back in his chair. He could see how he wouldn't be able to change his sister's mind, but he was not going to give her the satisfaction of chasing him out. She would have to say her piece and listen to his answers. Then she would have to ask him to leave or leave herself. He was not backing down from this. "And who are these people she burned for disobeying her?"

"The Tarly's"

"Opposing generals of an army who had betrayed their liege lady who was pledged to her cause, and who would turn around and continue fighting her as soon as they had the chance. That isn't burning someone for disobedience, that is tactics to save her own soldiers and executing a traitor." Jon spoke low and slow. His temper had calmed, and he wouldn't waste any more energy than necessary on this. "I can't say I would have done anything differently, and I _have_ executed someone for disobeying me."

Sansa seemed surprised at his reasoning concerning the Tarly's. "Still, she didn't have to kill them. They were prisoners of war."

"And what would you have done instead? Keep them with you? Put them in a cage and dragged them with you wherever your army went? How would you justify that to your men, who had to be the ones actually pulling them along."

"They could be put on carts." 

"That's one less cart to carry food or weapons. Now your soldiers have to carry those things on their bodies instead, wearing themselves out quicker. Besides, that's two extra mouths to feed, and for what? What is the point of bringing them with you? What would you do with them after the war is won? When winter has come and the people are struggling to eat, and you have two useless mouths in your dungeons demanding food, but doing nothing to contribute for it, except for, maybe, having killed a dozen of your farmers."

"She didn't have to burn them." 

"Death by Dragonfire is as quick as a stroke of the axe and much more secure."

Silence.

"I still won't bow to her."

"That is your choice, Sansa. Be sure to tell me when you've decided which of the Free Cities you'll make your new home, and I'm sure our Queen will arrange safe passage for you on one of her ships."

The glare Sansa shot him was enough to freeze a man to his marrow, but Jon simply stood up and started walking calmly towards her.

"I am sure, if you only give her a chance, you will realize she is not what Cersei's ravens make her out to be, and that she will be good for our people."

Before he reached her though, Sansa spun in her spot and had her back turned to him. "I wish to be left alone now."

Jon sighed and nodded. "Very well, " he said curtly and left the room. Once he was out in the hallway, he sighed and lowered his shoulders. It had been a long day and he found himself in need of clarity. And a bath. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know it's a bit of a modern perspective with Jon considering their children to take the mother's name. I don't think a 1400's northman could ever conceive of such a possibility, but then, that's the advantage of fantasy writing, is it not? as the author, I can throw in whatever bits of world-building I like, if I want. 
> 
> If this makes my fic too modern for your taste, I have full respect for that. I would recommend, either consider this to be an au, or skip the sentence altogether? If this is what makes you stop reading, I fully respect that too of course.
> 
> Cup of tea/mug of ale. Same/same ;P


	4. A healer and a traitor’s son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam

Daenerys felt over the moon. She was lying over Drogon’s snout, her torso and arms spread across his face, her legs hanging straight down before his jaws. The winter sun was piercingly bright, but she was perfectly content, stroking her son’s face and feeling the warmth of his breath. Moments like these were too rare.

After a perfect day of flying with Jon and the dragons, Daenerys felt like all was right in the world. The man she loved had returned to her, Rhaegal now had a rider and thus would be less vulnerable in the upcoming battle, and she had actually found a place in the North that she genuinely liked.

After they had landed, before he had returned to the keep, Jon had pulled her close and kissed her greedily. She had felt like if it hadn’t been for the close proximity to Winterfell and judging eyes, he would have had her, right there among the charred remains of the dragons’ dinner. Instead, the kiss had been a promise. A promise that he was back now: back with her, and he wouldn’t abandon her like that again.

Bathed in dragon fumes and her head swimming in a cocktail of happy emotions and romantic dreams as she continued to pet Drogon, Daenerys didn’t notice anyone walking up to her until that someone spoke up.

«Pardon me, Khaleesi, I was wondering if you had a moment?”

The gruff voice of her oldest friend snapped her out of her daydreams and she hoisted herself up on her elbows to look down at him. “For you, Ser Jorah, always!” She said affectionately and slid down from Drogon. The great dragon was awakened by this, but some tender scratches on the brow was enough to send him back into dragon dreamland.

Daenerys dusted off the front of her white fur coat and looked up at Ser Jorah. “What is it you wanted to talk about, Ser Jorah?”

Ser Jorah smiled and held out his hands for her to hold, which she did immediately. “The maester who healed my grey scale has come to Winterfell. I would like to introduce him to you.”

Daenerys eyes went wide and her mouth widened into a big smile. “I would love to meet him, and express my gratitude to him for the great service he has done me in saving my oldest friend!”

Ser Jorah smiled at her reactions, the crows feet at his eyes creasing. Daenerys had long known that Ser Jorah harboured feelings for her stronger than what she was able to reciprocate, and though she had felt guilty at times and hoped he would transfer his infatuation to someone else, all she could give him was her sincere friendship and affection and give it wholeheartedly.

They found the maester in the Winterfell library. He was diligently searching the great dusty times for information on the White Walkers, as he had originally been sent to the Citadel to do. He was a round, soft heap of a man, with a face that shone of his mother’s love, but Daenerys knew that for him to have been able to undergo what he did to save Ser Jorah, there had to be steel in those bones.

Seeing as he was deep in concentration, Daenerys considered for a split second if she should rather leave and come see him another time. If he could find information that could help them in the fight against the White Walkers, that could be the difference between life and death for many of her soldiers.

However, this wouldn’t take long, and now she was here, she might as well get it done so that he might get back to his work as quickly as possible. Daenerys cleared her throat to get the man's attention and avoiding startling him, and he looked up at them with an "Oh!"

Now that her presence had been made known, the maester rose, dusted off his clothes and came to greet them. "So you're the man?" Daenerys beamed at him. He looked confused. And uncomfortable. And maybe a little constipated. "Um, which man am I, Your Grace?"

Daenerys' features softened. She owed this man so much. "The man who saved Ser Jorah, when no one else could." At that, Ser Jorah shifted his weight beside her, pride and gratitude for the man before them shining in his voice. "They could, they just wouldn't."

Daenerys looked from the maester to Ser Jorah, again grateful for the fact that he was able to stand next to her in full health. "I'll have to make some changes in the Citadel when I take my throne." She said and then turned to look pointedly at the maester again. "A great service merits a great reward."

"Oh, it's my honour to serve you, Your Grace." The maester did a hurried curtsy every time he said "your grace", the man had probably been raised in proximity to nobility, but never put much effort into keeping with the proper etiquette. "Well, there must be something I can give you." Daenerys insisted, and the maester nodded.  
"If it is not too much trouble, I could use a pardon." he said, smiling hesitantly. Daenerys had a new feeling the man hadn't received much kindness from people in authority, judging from the way his shoulders were constantly raised, and he seemed to want nothing more than to run away and hide from her. She did her best to give him a reassuring smile to make him feel less nervous as they spoke. Maybe his nervousness stemmed from the crime he had committed though? She would hate to have to punish the man who had saved her oldest friend, especially when all others in his position had chosen not to help. "For what crime?"

Again, the maester dragged his feet with his whole body, "Um, I borrowed a few books from the Citadel."

Daenerys' shoulders sunk a full inch out of relief and she closed her eyes with a nodding smile. That was nothing she couldn't easily forgive. "Those books are better served wherever you are, as you do important work to study how we may defeat the Army of the dead. Rather than pardoning you for taking those books, I consider them to be another reason why you should be rewarded."

"and... also a sword." At this, Daenerys tilted her head questioningly. "From the Citadel?" she asked.

The young maester made a crooked smile. "From my family. It's been in House Tarly for generations. It would've been mine anyway, eventually, but my father had other ideas."

A horrible realisation knotted itself in Daenerys' gut as she connected the dots. "You're Randyll Tarly's son?"

Young Maester Tarly looked at her, first seeing pleasantly enough surprised, then his expression changed to mirror the concern on her own face. "You've met my father?" the maester asked, seeming more uncomfortable than ever, and Daenerys nodded solemnly. "We met on the battlefield."  
Tarly's face flashed with horror, and Daenerys figured he deserved the full truth about his family's treason. "Olenna Tyrell pledged the Reach to my cause, and your father betrayed her, sacked Highgarden and massacred the remaining Tyrells with the help of the Lannister army. I rode my dragon out to confront them, and after the battle, while he was given the chance to be pardoned and keep his lands and titles if he pledged himself to my cause, he chose death."

Maester Tarly's ability to keep his composure in the face of news like this was admirable. He looked down to steal a moment for himself, took a deep breath and then looked nervously up at her again. "Well, at least I'll be allowed home again, now that my brother's the lord."

The knot in her gut tightened and Daenerys truly felt sorry for the young maester. His family might have been guilty of treason, but they were still his family. "I am sorry to say that your brother chose to stand with your father."

The news was too much for the young maester. His lips were quivering and he wouldn't be able to keep his composure much longer. "Hm. Thank you, Your Grace. For telling me. And m- may I?" He said, his voice shaking with emotion. Daenerys nodded understanding and stood aside. "Of course" She whispered as he passed and left the library. She didn't regret her actions in having executed the Tarly's, but she was sad that he of all people, as Ser Jorah's saviour, had been the victim of their treason. She made a mental note to offer him his father's title and lands next time they met.

* * *

Jon was standing in the Winterfell crypts looking up at his father's statue when he heard familiar shuffling steps behind him. He didn't have to turn to see who it was, but did either way to face the man as he came towards him. He was surprised to see him down here, of all places. "Sam? When did you get here?"

The two brothers grabbed each other and hugged tightly. Once they let go, Jon looked his friend up and down, doing a mental checklist to about all limbs being intact. He had gotten into a habit of that when they were Night's watch brothers, and especially for Sam. "Have you been hiding from me?" he joked.

"Of course not." Sam was silent for a beat then looked apologetic about being in Jon's family crypt. "I'm sorry, I know I'm not supposed to be down here." Jon shook his head, dismissing the trespass, but the look of urgency on Sam's face was starting to worry him. "Did you read all the books in the Citadel already?" he asked, trying to keep the tone light, however, Sam's expression didn't change. "What's wrong? Gilly? Is she all right?" Sam shook his head, no that wasn't it. "She's good." he reassured Jon. "Little Sam?"

To Jon's relief Sam shook his head again. Jon let out a sigh of relief and his shoulders untested. "Don't you know?" Sam said, now sounding slightly impatient. Puzzled, Jon looked at him, tilting his head slightly. "Know what?"

"Daenerys. She executed my father and brother. They were her prisoners."

Jon closed his eyes and breathed out his nose. He had forgotten about that. When Daenerys and her Dothraki generals debriefed the council at Dragonstone after the Battle of Blackwater rush, he had been too wrapped up into his own confusion between the duty to secure dragon glass for the war against the dead and his burgeoning feelings for Daenerys to recognize that the Lord Tarly that had fought with the Lannisters was, of course, his sworn brother Sam's father.

"You knew." Sam's voice was incredulous. Jon nodded. "They had allied themselves with the Lannister and massacred the Tyrells." He looked down, empathic to Sam's grief for his brother and sighed. "We need to end this war."

"Would you have done it?"

Surprised, Jon looked up at Sam. His face was firm and unforgiving. "I have executed men who disobeyed me when I was Lord Commander." he offered, trying to be sensitive to Sam's grief, but honestly, also tired of having this conversation. "You've also spared men. Thousands of wildlings when they refused to kneel." Sam was relentless. Jon sighed again. "True, but they weren't fighting me because of political differences. They fought the Night's Watch because they were fleeing the Night King's army and we were in the way. Besides, your father was actively trying to have Daenerys personally killed. Why would she let him live?"

Horror and betrayal was spreading on Sam's face. Jon sighed yet again. Sam was too close to the matter to look at it objectively, but then again, Jon couldn't fault him for that.

"It is customary to take prisoners of war after a battle is won. We imprisoned Tormund after the battle at Castle Black. You personally shot Mance Raider so that he didn't have to die on that pyre. Yet you defend Daenerys for having torched my brother and father?"

Having heard of Sam's reason for taking the Black in the first place, Jon couldn't understand why he had any love left for his father, although his brother seemed to have a different spot in his heart. Jon could understand that. He would never be able to forgive Theon for betraying Robb, but in the depths of his heart, he missed his Greyjoy brother and the carefree days in the Winterfell courtyard when they were young.

"The Freefolk only wanted safety, your father wanted Daenerys dead. Why would she keep him alive when doing so would mean that she kept endangering herself? Your brother and father both were given the chance to bend the knee and have their substantial treasonous acts forgiven, but they made the choice to meet death instead."

Sam looked down. He was obviously fighting a confusing battle of emotions within himself. While a son's love for his father, however horrible, was strong, he couldn't deny that what Jon said made sense. Finally, he looked up at Jon, a last hope hanging in his voice and his words pointed. "Would you have done it?"

Jon looked down. Yes. Yes he would have. But he didn't want to tell Sam this, afraid that it would cause his sworn brother to stop talking to him. And now, with the Army of the Dead approaching, they might not have the time to make up before it was too late. Avoiding his friend's determined eyes, Jon looked up at the stony face of his father. "I am not a king." he said simply.

"But you were. You've always been."

Jon turned and looked at Sam, confused about what kind of straws his grieving sworn brother was grasping at now. "I gave up my crown, Sam." he said as a reminder. "I bent the knee. I'm not King in the North anymore." He then started walking out of the crypt, but Sam stood rooted to the spot. "I'm not talking about the King in the North. I'm talking about the King of the bloody Seven Kingdoms." Sam said bluntly.

Jon stopped, blinked and turned around to look at Sam.

Sam, now seeing that he had gained Jon's attention, took a step forward, readying him to explain. "Bran and I worked it out. I had a High Septon's diary. Bran had whatever Bran has."

Shaking his head, Jon was starting to get annoyed now. "What are you talking about?" he huffed.

"Your mother was Lyanna Stark."

Jon felt like something the ground disappeared under his feet. Earlier that day, he and Rhaegar had practised doing steep dives, and had caused a surge in his belly. This feeling was something akin to that, only now he didn't have the safety of two tons of dragon to lean on.

Knowing that he had Jon's attention, Sam let his words sink in for a second and then proceeding. "And your father- your real father was Rhaegar Targaryen. You've never been a bastard. You're Aegon Targaryen, true heir to the Iron Throne. I'm sorry, I know it's a lot to take in."

Rage was building within Jon now. Ever since he had returned to Winterfell with Daenerys, people had been trying to undermine her and portray her as a tyrant. He understood that Sam was grieving, but this took the cake. His feet found solid ground again and he walked up to Sam with slow, deliberate steps. When he spoke up his voice was more like a wolf's growl. "My father was the most honourable man I ever met. You're saying he lied to me all my life."

At this, Sam had the decency to take a step back, and his voice returned to his normal fumbling ways as he tried to explain and calm Jon down. "No. Your father- Well, Ned Stark. He promised your mother he'd always protect you. And he did. Robert would have murdered you if he knew. You're the true king. Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, Protector of the Realm, all of it."

Jon, his face having been just a few inches from Sam's when he spoke now leant back, walked away for a few steps and then rubbed the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes shut with exasperation. He had wanted to know who his mother was his entire life, and his father's reason for lying made sense. He recognised that Robert Baratheon definitely would have killed him if he knew, judging from what little he knew about the man. But Rhaegar Targaryen being his true father? That was too much. It made sense, sort of, but it was too much.

Sighing again, Jon leant his head back and looked up into the ceiling. "It doesn't matter though, Daenerys is our queen."

"She shouldn't be"

"And why is that?"

Sam fell silent. Jon waited.

Silence fell between them and several moments passed before Jon turned to look at Sam, the look on his face expectant.

"It's the truth." Sam finally said, avoiding Jon's inquiry altogether. "You gave up your crown to save your people. Would she do the same?"

Jon's jaw tightened. "I gave up my crown _because_ she pledged her armies to our cause, and even if she hadn't, why should she give up her crown? Who exactly would be saved by Daenerys giving up her claim?"

Sam looked taken aback. He hadn't expected an answer like that. Furthermore, he obviously had heard a much different story about how the King of the North gave away his crown. Heard or assumed. Much like the rest of this bloody country, Jon thought. 

"I'll tell you the same thing I told Sansa." Jon started, piercing Sam to the spot with a freezing glare. "Daenerys is our Queen. Any suggestion otherwise is treason and will be dealt with according to the law. The Northern law."

Jon kept his eye contact with Sam for a beat, and the pudgy man swallowed and nodded hurriedly. Satisfied that he had made his point and now in _desperate_ need for some space so that he could think straight, Jon turned on the heel and stalked out of the crypt, leaving Sam to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I used to roleplay on gaiaonline. When I had two people speaking in the same post there, I would use different colours to help identify which character said what. 
> 
> I know it's a writing crutch, but I miss being able to do that.


	5. Reunion

Arya was walking towards the forge when she heard a voice she was certain she would never hear again since she left him to die over a year ago.

Walking to stand in the doorway of the forge she could see Sandor Clegane and Gendry arguing about something. Two people she had thought she would never see again, and certainly not together. "Leave him alone." She said as a way to announce her presence.

Both men turned to look at her, both as surprised to see her as she was to see them.

"I heard you were here." Clegane said, breaking the silence. "You left me to die." There was a hint of accusation in his voice, which Arya didn’t hesitate to rise to meet. “First I robbed you.” She said, smirking.

Clegane rose and walked over to her without breaking eye-contact. “You're a cold little bitch, aren't you?” Then his features softened and he made something that one could argue resembled a grin. “Guess that's why you're still alive.” Then he walked past her and made his way to somewhere else.

Arya watched Clegane walk off, then turn to find that Gendry had come closer. He smelt of soot and sweat, he was wearing a leather apron and his sweaty, muscular arms were bare, her eyes travelled further down and found a convenient excuse for her ogling. Her eyes snapped back to looking him in the eyes as she cleared her throat and spoke “That is a nice axe you’ve made for him. You've gotten better.”

“Yeah, thanks. So have you.” Was his immediate response, even if exactly what she had become better at was less clear. He paused for a beat, presumably realising his own blunder. “I mean, you look good.”

“Thanks. So do you.” Arya replied automatically, then immediately mentally slapped herself for the slip.

They looked at each other in silence for a moment, then Gendry turned to return to his work, continuing the conversation as he walked away from her and towards his workbench. “It's not a bad place to grow up, if it wasn't so cold.” he commented as he inspected the battle axe.

“Stay close to that forge, then.” Arya quipped, following him. When she came to the workbench, she faced away from it, put her hands on the edge and jumped up to sit there, legs dangling off the edge and eyes watching him watching the blade. At that, Gendry turned his attention to her with a wide grin. “Is that a command, Lady Stark?”

“Don't call me that.” Arya replied quickly, although more as a reflex than actual repulsion. Of all people, Gendry was the one person she didn’t actually completely hate calling her a Lady.

“As you wish, milady.” He replied, and looked back at the axe, knowing full well that he was allowed.

Gendry kept looking at the axe, and Arya looked down for a moment, both smiling.

They stayed there in pleasant silence for a beat, Arya just sitting there watching as he worked, then suddenly she remembered why she had gone to the forge in the first place. She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and shuffled closer on the bench to Gendry. "Hey, look here." She said, getting his attention back. "Here's a weapon I'd like made." She held out the paper for him to take and inspect. She then waited for a moment so that he had a chance to read the drawing. "Can you make it?" She asked after a while, even though he hadn't given any indication of being done: she was simply done waiting.

"What do you need something like this for?" He asked and looked up. Arya raised an eyebrow. "The army of the dead are coming. What do you think I need it for? Can you make it or not?"

Gendry looked like he was fighting an internal war where a huge mental army was screaming at him to insist that she shouldn't be fighting. But instead, he deflected to a different topic. "You already have a sword. What's that?" He asked, even though he could clearly see that it was a dagger, and trying not to think too hard about why Arya had a sword and a dagger. When they had travelled together she had always been insistent on being able to fight, but instinctively he still wished to protect her from any violence.

Arya grinned and handed him the dagger she had used to execute Littlefinger. "It's Valyrian steel." he muttered as he appraised it. Then, once he had inspected it properly, he handed it back. "I always knew you were just another rich girl." he said and smiled.

"You don't know any other rich girls." Arya said and smirked, then jumped down from the bench and turned around, about to leave when she heard him speak up behind her. "Actually, I do."

Surprised at the reply, Arya slowed her stride and then turned to look at him. Gendry was crossing his huge thick arms in front of his chest and leant on the workbench where she had been sitting a second ago. He had a look on his face that said he was pleased to see that he had got to her. "I mean, the Queen and me aren't best buds, what with her having a ton of other followers, and my father having personally killed her brother and sent assassins after her her entire life, but she hasn't killed me yet, so I guess that means she accepts my existence."

Arya blinked and stared at him blank-faced, but didn't say anything. If she disapproved, Gendry expected she would have put on the now-famous Stark scowl, so he took that as a sign that it was safe to proceed. Pushing himself from the bench with a shrug, he let his arms fall and sauntered towards her. "I'm not sure I know you though."

"Of cou-" Arya's voice disappeared in a choke so she cleared her throat and tried again, still completely taken aback at this power-shift between them. "Of course you do." She said, in her best attempt to sound unaffected.

"I don't." Gendry said softly. Bravely. Inside, his heart was beating out of his chest and he couldn't believe his own audacity, but somehow, he managed to keep his cool from an outside point-of-view. "I haven't known you for many years. But I like to think that knew you once. And I'd like to get to know you again." He was standing right in front of her now, his higher stature forcing her to look straight up in order to meet his eyes. Hers was the most stunning deep shade of brown, yet somehow with grey and golden spots, like shining stones in a forest creek. His heart would probably hold out about for two and a half minutes more before it would explode from beating too fast.

Arya's throat was drier than a Bravoosi summer, and she found herself stammering. She was used by now to ending a conversation with witty comments and then leaving before they could reply. It had been a long time since anyone put her in a position where she was struck speechless, and she had certainly never before found herself struck speechless by biceps. 

Frozen in her spots and unable to string together a coherent sentence, Arya simply stared up into his eyes, deep and dangerous like a torrent river, mouth agape with unspoken words, until he smiled, said "I'll get to working on that weapon." and sauntered back into the forge. 

Arya stared at him for a minute, closed her mouth, and cleared her throat. 

Then left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I know it's grammatically "The queen and I", but Gendry is lowborn, ok?)


	6. A Naathi girl in the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is a Missandei POV chapter that takes place from when Daenerys goes to her dragons, and lasts until, well, you'll see. It's basically what Missandei did all day whilst drama ensued.

Missandei of Naath stayed in Daenerys' chambers for a while after her Queen had left to tend to her dragons, just drinking wine and relishing in the blissful silence. She hadn't liked wine at first, but Tyrion's insistence on having it at every occasion had given her the chance to get used to the taste, and now she found she had a liking for it. There was a time and place, of course. Right now, she was alone, and there was no need to stay sharp. She could simply lean back and let 19 languages mix in her head into utter uncohesiveness.

They had passed some pleasant evenings like this, Missandei and Daenerys, and sometimes Grey Worm, and sometimes Tyrion. The evenings when Tyrion joined them weren't that pleasant. The imp tried too hard, Missandei thought. He always had to show himself off as the smartest in the room, and he seemed to have absolutely no understanding of the realities of the world. As if any problem could be fixed by throwing gold at it and being witty.

There was scuffling outside in the courtyard. People were training. For the war to come. Missandei didn't like battles. They were not her place. Her place was as an ambassador, and her wars were waged in silence. But this battle was unavoidable, Jon Snow had said. Even if they did leave the ungrateful, snarky, holier-than-thou northerners to deal with the Army of The Dead on their own, the boy, Bran, had assured them that the army would continue moving, would continue warring, until the entire world stood in their ranks. They couldn't swim though. Maybe the Night King was a blessing? Missandei could return to Naath, and the Night King could wipe out all the slavers.

Except Daenerys Stormborn had already pledged to wipe out every slaver. And she could not survive on Naath.

Neither would Grey Worm.

Misssandei sighed and leaned her head against the stone wall, listening to the men train outside. Deep inside her, she knew that she ought to learn at least the most rudimentary principles of self-defence, in case a white walker did manage to breach the defences, but at the same time, she knew that starting such training now, in the courtyard of leering Northerners would be futile. She should have begun training at the same time Grey Worm started learning the Common Tongue. Still, it wouldn't hurt to learn some basics. Time that had passed was unchangeable, but there were still hours, days, before the Army of the Dead would be her, and Missandei might as well make them count. Just. Not here.

Missandei put the goblet of wine back on the table, stood up, threw her fur-lined leather cloak around her and made her way through the maze that was the Winterfell corridors. Once out in the courtyard, she could practically feel the Bannerman staring at her. Could hear the swords stop clanging, and the hushed whispers between men proving themselves to be small. Practically everyone knew that Missandei was a person high in rank in Daenerys' party, but that didn't prevent their distaste for her. Missandei reconned it had to do with petty things like how she was born, the fact that she had been a slave, or simply the fact that she believed Daenerys to be anything but a she-demon from the seventh hell.

Missandei walked straight through the courtyard without offering them as much as a glance. When they had come here, they had offered kindness and smiles, but Missandei was done with northern rudeness by now. None of these men would be alive to see next week if it weren't for Daenerys pledging her armies to help them, and yet they had the gall to scowl at her generosity.

Missandei kept walking out the Winterfell gates until she reached the Dothraki camp. The Dothraki had always been a harsh and misogynistic society, but under Daenerys' rule, they had mellowed out considerably. Most of the women had been left with a small security detail on Dragonstone, and so, Missandei of Naath found herself surrounded by leather-clad warrior men, who had once believe the world was theirs for the taking. But Missandei stood tall, her neck unbent, her shoulders low. These men might have a violent culture, but they were Daenerys' people now, and they would never hurt her. In their midst, Missandei felt safe.

" _Jharro_ ," She said warmly, with a smile on her lips as one of the captains came out to greet her, offering her his hands to hold. She gladly took them into her own.

" _Medamina, what brings you here? Khaleesi? Has something happened?"_ His brow was wrinkled with concern and Missandei was quick to free him of such by smiling and nodding. _"Khaleesi went to see to her dragons. I am here for myself. Truth is, the upcoming battle frightens me, and I'd like to be, less incompetent at defending myself._ " 

Jharro's face had never been one to hide his emotions, and now, Missandei could see the conflicting thoughts forming in his brain. Fighting was not culturally a thing for women to do. But his Khaleesi was a woman, and she was the Stallion who would mount the world. Why shouldn't her Medamina be allowed to fight? The Dothraki culture was changing ever since they left Vaes Dothrak and began following their Khaleesi, and even though he didn't think he minded it all that much, Jharro had to admit to himself that sometimes it was going a bit too fast for him to be able to follow.

 _"I..."_ he started, then nodded solemnly, making his decision. _"Yes, Medamina. I will train you."_

 _"I am grateful."_ Missandei said. Whoever thought there was no way to say "thank you" in the Dothraki Language, simply wasn't creative enough with the semantics. _"I know we won't be able to make a warrior of me in this little time, but at least my chances of survival might rise."_

Jharro nodded and turned to hold out his hand to some men standing behind him. Kharon, one of his riders offered a pair of long knives. They were the length of Missandei's arms, and curved like a banana.

_"Forgive me, Medamina, but I think an arakh might be too heavy for your scholarly arms. These long knives are good for melee combat, meaning they are good for an offensive defence. Kind of like two very sharp shields."_

Missandei nodded and took the knives as they were offered to her. They were heavy. She'd probably need a good hour or two just to get used to the weight, let alone being able to swing them with any sort of precision. But that was ok. Missandei had mastered 19 languages. The language of the sword was just another code for her to break, and she wasn't afraid to spend time learning the craft. Especially if it meant she could be of use to Daenerys.

Jharro must have seen her stumble when she took the swords because he gave out a hearty laugh and slapped her good-naturedly on the back, causing her to stumble yet again. _"Is okay, Medamina. Every foal must find his feet before he can gallop. Look here:"_ And so, with another pair of long knives given to him by Kharon, he drew the knives and positioned himself into a stance, Missandei guessed would be good for preparing both to lunge forward or step back and defend.

Again wordlessly nodding, Missandei did her best to mimic, at first, Jharro's stance, and then the moves he made, making the long knives dance as very sharp outer edges of his own arms.

* * *

Many hours later, Missandei was back in her Queen's chambers. After a long training session with Jharro, and a couple of other men who had joined in as time went by, she was proud to declare that she now could at least confidently hold the long knives up to parallel her arms, and she had learned how to hold a good grip on them so they wouldn't go flying every time she took a sharp turn. She had almost taken Menarrho's left arm off one of the times she had lost the grip. Luckily, he had fast reflexes and good humour. 

Her muscles ached and her fingers were burning, both from the weather having been cold, and the steel having been hard and heavy. She was rubbing her hands now with an ointment Kharon had given her when she left the Dothraki camp after Daenerys had been seen returning to the keep. It was thick and fragrant, and it helped soothe the ache. Missandei thought it sweet that such rough men carried ointments with such feminine scents as rose or lavender.

Missandei had just finished washing off the sweat of her body with a cloth, dressed, and was now in the process of braiding her hair when the door opened and Daenerys walked in. Calmly, Missandei turned on her stool and gave her Queen a light bow, but Daenerys seemed startled. She probably hadn't expected there to be anyone here. "Oh, Missandei, I'm sorry for intruding!" Daenerys said quickly, which Missandei was used to because Daenerys would always apologise for entering the room unannounced if Missandei was there, even though the room in question were Daenerys' own chambers.

And thus, even though she felt it to be silly, Missandei, as always shook her head gently. "How were the dragons, my Queen?" She asked, her hands still in her lap, and her braids left half-finished. Daenerys replied with a fond smile. "They don't like the cold of the north, but they blossom when given attention. They are only children, after all." Missandei found it difficult to think of such grand creatures as children, but then, she herself had seen them grow from the size of dogs to the great beasts they were today. They weren't old and thus must relish in the affection of their mother as long as they could have it. She knew she would have....

"May I?" Missandei snapped out of her musings and looked up at Daenerys, who was holding out her hand towards Missandei's face as if indicating something. Her hair. She probably meant her hair. "Of course, Mhysa."

Daenerys paused for a moment, unaccustomed to Missandei using that title for her, but smiled fondly anyway and moved to position herself behind her friend so that she would finish her braids. "Is there something on your mind, Missandei?" she asked, halfway into the third braid, and locked eyes with Missandei in the mirror. Missandei did her best at a brave smile, but obviously her Queen could see right through it because suddenly her hands were on Missandei's shoulders. Missandei allowed a tear to roll down her cheek and put a hand on Daenerys'. She didn't need to hide anything from her. She felt safe enough in Daenerys' presence to let her true emotions show, and she was so happy to have such a friendship in her life, finally, after such a long time in Kraznyz' enslavement. 

"I've said it before, Sweetling, and it holds double truth now that the dead are coming to knock on our door: Say the words, and I'll have you on a ship bound for Naath before dawn breaks." Daenerys' voice was soft and gentle, and Missandei let another tear fall as she shook her head. Sure, she missed the beaches, but "My place is with you, Mhysa, Breaker of Chains." 

"You owe me nothing, Missandei." Daenerys' eyes locked with Missandei's again in the mirror. "You are my dearest friend, and I'll do anything to see you happy and safe." Missandei nodded. "Yes, my Queen." She could see Daenerys shift uncomfortably but not say anything. One of these days, she would learn to address her best friend as simply Daenerys.

A knock on the door pulled them back to reality, and it was Daenerys who first found the strength of voice to call out. "Enter!" A Northern girl, pale of complexion, soft, straight raven hair, and eyes the colour of Missandei's skin walked in the door and did a simple curtsy for the Queen. Missandei noted that this girl had none of her fellow countrymen's distaste for their Queen in her manners. She was simply a lowborn girl, behaving towards Daenerys as she would any other highborn. "You are wanted in the Great Hall, your Grace. Jamie Lannister has arrived in Winterfell."

Missandei could feel Daenerys' hands start to clench where they were placed on her shoulders. She knew it was an unconscious thing. When she looked in the mirror and at Daenerys' face, even though it was facing the young servant girl, she knew her Queen's features had turned to stone, not betraying her by letting any feelings rise to the surface.

"How many has he brought with him?"

"It is only him, your Grace."

Daenerys paused for a moment, although she remained stony-faced. "Very well, we'll be there in a moment." her voice was void of emotion and she turned her attention to finish Missandei's hair again. The servant girl did another short curtsy and left the room. Daenerys finished the rest of Missandei's hair in silence, but Missandei could see in her reflection that her Queen's head was churning through a thousand conflicting feelings.

* * *

The Great hall was already packed with people when Missandei and Daenerys arrived. Her Queen rightfully took her seat at the centre of the long table in lieu of where a throne would have been, whilst Missandei found her seat at a smaller table to the left alongside ser Jorah, Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys. Jon Snow, as the former King in the North, was seated at Daenerys' right and Lady Sansa, as the Lady of Winterfell and thereby its castellan, took her seat to Daenerys' left.

Missandei had to admit, she didn't quite see the power structure between the Stark siblings. Jon had been King, and now he was... nothing? The commander of Sansa, the highest-ranking Northern Lady's forces, she would have to guess. But why was Sansa the castellan of Winterfell? Jon was older than her, even though he was a bastard, but she still had a surviving younger brother in Bran Stark. From what Missandei had read about Westerosi hierarchy, males ranked higher than female siblings, regardless of the order of birth. Lord Bran himself was seated at Lady Sansa's left, whilst the fourth and final sibling, Lady Sansa's younger sister Arya, was seated at Jon's right.

Ser Jamie Lannister was stood in the middle of the hall. His clothes ragged and haphazardly thrown together. Not what one would expect from a royal general, sent to fight in a frozen region. Even the Dothraki had been better equipped before they ventured north.

"When I was a child, my brother would tell me a bedtime story about the man who murdered our father." Daenerys' voice echoed through the hall, and any whispering voices that might have lingered were instantly hushed. "Who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat. Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor."  
  
Ser Jamie looked to the floor, apparently ashamed at his previous misdeeds. Or, at least, acknowledging that the present company was one in which it was wise to at least fake such shame.  
  
Daenerys continued. "He told me other stories as well. About all the things we would do to that man once we took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasp." Then she paused.   
  
"As a child, growing up in exile with assassins lurking behind every corner because of your actions that day, I must admit I shared in his dreams. Relished in the day when strong soldiers would drag you away and make you answer for the crimes and the agonies you put my brother and me through at such a young age. Now, of course, I know it's not as simple as that. I know what my father was. I know what my brother would have been." Great shuffling was heard through the hall as a hundred lords snapped their gaze towards Daenerys. Missandei expected that they had come here as it was their right to be present at political meetings, but that they only expected their prejudice in the Mad King's daughter once again confirmed.  
  
Daenerys let the assembled group and Ser Jamie, himself, stew in the meaning of her words for a moment before she raised her voice again and spoke matter of factly. "Your sister pledged to send her army north."  
  
"She did." Ser Jamie answered plainly. He seemed almost as disappointed in his solitariness as Daenerys was.

"I don't see an army. I see one man, with one hand. It appears your sister lied to me." Daenerys said, letting her disappointment and her gaze glide from Ser Jamie, to Lord Tyrion, who seemed to look rather horrified from Daenerys to his brother.  
  
"She lied to me as well." Ser Jamie said and raised his head, looking apologetically at Daenerys. "She never had any intention of sending her army north."

Daenerys disappointment in Lord Tyrion shifted into a glare, which she held until he had the decency to shift uncomfortably, and then she looked at Ser Jamie again, who was still speaking.  
  
"She has Euron Greyjoy's fleet and 20,000 fresh troops. The Golden Company from Essos bought and paid for. Even if we defeat the dead, she'll have more than enough to destroy the survivors."

"We?" Daenerys quirked an eyebrow.  
  
"I promised to fight for the living. I intend to keep that promise."  
  
Daenerys was silent, probably fighting to keep her composure, and waited for just a beat too long, giving Lord Tyrion the chance to slither out of his seat and walk out on the floor and towards her.  
  
"Your Grace, I know my brother-" He started, probably planning a long clever speech, but Daenerys cut him off.

"Like you knew your sister?"  
  
Tyrion looked uncomfortable. Good. It was about time he showed some humility. "He came here alone, knowing full well how he'd be received. Why would he do that if he weren't telling the truth?

Daenerys leant back in her chair. "Perhaps he trusts his little brother to defend him, right up to the moment he slits my throat."  
  
Understanding that he was out of his depth with Daenerys, Lord Tyrion now looked at Jon Snow and Lady Sansa for help.  
  
"You're right. We can't trust him." Lady Sansa was the first to speak. "He attacked my father in the streets. He tried to destroy my house and my family, the same as he did yours."  
  
Ser Jamie stood tall, showing that although he had humility, he also had dignity and integrity. "Do you want me to apologize? I won't. We were at war. Everything I did, I did for my house and my family. I'd do it all again."  
  
"The things we do for love" Lord Bran suddenly said, and everyone turned their heads toward the youngest Stark who locked eyes with Ser Jamie. The boy was a mystery, seemingly shrouded in some kind of daze, but as far as Missandei understood it, he always spoke the truth, simply for lack of motivation to be mentally present more than absolutely necessary.

"So why have you abandoned your house and family now?" Daenerys said, breaking the silence. Ser Jaime seemed to be snapped back from his Lord Bran- induced daze and gave her a determined look. "Because this goes beyond loyalty," he replied. He then looked around at the Lords and Ladies assembled, only quickly retrieving his gaze and then looked up at Daenerys after he had spotted Lady Brienne of Tarth in the crowd. "This is about survival." He said, as a confirmation to his previous statement.

Missandei looked at her Queen, curious as to how this would play out, and massaging her wrists, which still hurt from earlier that day. Then Lady Brienne stood up and walked to the centre of the room. Brienne of Tarth was a giant of a woman, with shining blue eyes, yellow hair and masculine features. Lord Tyrion had told Missandei once on Dragonstone, that the Lady had been ridiculed for her looks and her profession her entire life, something Missandei found ridiculous. What did it matter what you were born for if you had skills that pulled you in a different direction? For all that she had read about the realm, Westeros seemed to have a horribly constrictive culture.

"You don't know me well, Your Grace." Lady Brienne said and placed herself to be standing next to Ser Jaime. "But I know Ser Jaime. He is a man of honour. I was his captor once. But when we were both taken prisoner and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jaime defended me. And lost his hand because of it." She then turned to look at Lady Sansa. "Without him, my lady, you would not be alive. He armed me, armoured me, and sent me to find you and bring you home because he'd sworn an oath to your mother."

"You vouch for him?" For all her prejudice, this was hesitance Missandei actually considered the Lady of Winterfell to be entitled to. The Lannisters had been the source of most of her misfortune and her family's fall from grace. Trusting a man like that with the safety of your family home was no small task.

"I do." Said Lady Brienne.

"You would fight beside him?"

"I would."  
  
Lady Sansa seemed to possess the same stone mask her own Queen so often wore when faced with diplomacy, and after a moment's consideration, she gave her consent. "I trust you with my life. If you trust him with yours, we should let him stay."  
  
"What does the Warden of the North say about it?" For the first time in some while, Daenerys spoke up, but Missandei recognised a lack of fight in her Queen's voice. This was a battle for another day. She would need to think about this. Missandei hoped she would allow her to give council, and if nothing else, a comforting hand to hold.  
  
  
"We need every man we can get." Jon Snow then replied. There was a lack of fight in his voice too like there was something on his mind. Something so big, the matter of the man who caused his father's downfall and eventual execution seemed like grains of sand in comparison. Daenerys seemed to notice too, from what Missandei could see. She hadn't minded their courtship while they were at Dragonstone, but ever since they came to the North, Jon Snow had been cold, distant, aloof. Lost in his own mind. And Missandei could see how it hurt Daenerys.  
  
The room had fallen silent after Jon Snow's comment, and all eyes were on Daenerys who thought for a moment, then stood up. "Very well." She said finally.

A crush of whispers erupted at once, and Missandei could see Lord Tyrion's shoulders lower a full inch. Her Grey Worm forcefully handed Ser Jaime back his sword, and Missandei smiled fondly to herself at his protectiveness.  
  
"Thank you, Your Grace." Ser Jaime found the courtesy to say, then froze. The entire room had made ready to leave, considering the matter to be done with, But Daenerys stood firm, her eyes rooting Ser Jaime to his spot, and as the rest of the Lords and Ladies realised this, silence fell quickly again. 

"But here is your one and only warning, Jaime Lannister. Give me a single reason to suspect you're working against us, and I'll fly you to King's Landing myself, and drop you from the sky and before your sister's feet. I've heard Lannister cloaks hide the sight of blood quite well." Then, without dismissing anyone, she turned and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Missandei to have a title with the Dothraki akin to how they call their leader Khal or Khaleesi, and I ended up with this honorific I picked up from "the Shamer chronicles" by Lene Kaaberbøl. It just made sense for me, with Missandei being so high in rank with Daenerys' small council and the fact that she speaks Dothraki fluently that she would have dealings with them. I'd like to think they'd developed a fondness for each other by the time season 8 rolled around. I mean. Who in their right mind is able to not like Missandei?


	7. The last of the Targaryens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth

Making her way out the door leading from the Great Hall to the residential chambers, Daenerys could hear the shuffling of several pairs of feet hurrying behind her, but only slowed her pace when Tyrion spoke up.

“Your Grace,” he was probably, once again, about to go on a big speech about his gratitude or the importance of mercy or whatever, but Daenerys cut him off by whipping around and nailing him to the spot with a glare. “Either you knew Cersei was lying and let me believe otherwise, or you didn't know at all. Which makes you either a traitor or a fool.”

Tyrion looked rather taken aback by this. He hadn’t been used to being cut off in his big speeches before, but then, that was before he had completely exhausted Daenerys’ patience. Therefore, he looked sincere when he looked at his feet and admitted: “I was a fool.”

“Not for the first time.” Daenerys stood straight now, looking down on him, her expression void. She was speaking calmly, slowly, making damn sure she was well understood. “Cersei still sits on the throne. If you can't help me take it back, I'll find another Hand who can. Of course, it is starting to dawn on me that maybe I am the fool. You came to me by recommendation of Lord Varys, a man I have only known as the origin of all my assassins and whom I’ve had no reason to trust either. Yet I did. And what has my mercy given me? A prolonged war, thousands of soldiers dead. The Iron Fleet: smashed to pieces. Highgarden: massacred. Ellaria and her daughters: vanished off the face of the earth. You have one job going forward, Lord Tyrion Lannister, and that is to prove to me that you are not in fact your sister’s agent.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and continued walking away from them. Then, as if she had eyes in the back of her head and had seen that Tyrion was looking at Varys and Ser Jorah, she called out “You may leave your pin with Red Flea, the Unsullied soldier guarding your chambers. He’ll get it back to me.”

* * *

Daenerys was tired. She was disappointed. She was tired of being disappointed.

She kept her emotions hidden behind a blank face until the door to her chambers were closed shut and bolted behind her.

She had long stopped believing in the honeyed words of magisters and wealthy men who sheltered them when Illyrio told her brother Viserys that the people of Westeros called out for their true King and drank secret toasts in their name. Still, the hostility she had met ever since setting foot on Dragonstone was beginning to wear on her.   
  


The people of Essos had always named her a foreign whore and bid her go home where she came from, and now she was hearing the exact same words from the Westerosi.

She knew well that she couldn’t let it get to her, had to rise above it all. That was what it meant to be sovereign. That would always be her burden.

But what other choice had she ever had? She always told people that the Iron throne had been her life’s goal when the truth was that it was unavoidable. She had been an unwilling participant in the Game of Thrones ever since she was born, and if was not one of the games one could just quit. Daenerys knew full well that no matter what she said or did or renounced, her very existence was a threat to the usurpers on the throne, and they would continue trying to have her killed.

With her back to the door, Daenerys sank to the floor and put her arms around her knees. She needed a new strategy, this one was killing her, tearing her apart. She had relied on Tyrion’s council this far because she thought he was the kind of man who would be able to make tough, but wise, decisions for the best interests of the people, but now she was starting, not only to doubt his abilities, but also his loyalties. Had he maybe been the architect behind her losses this far? Was her sweet Viserion dead because she had listened to a Lannister, like a fool.   
  


_Father listened to the Lannisters, and he died for it,_ a small voice whispered inside her head.

She turned her head and shut her eyes, as if in an argument with herself. _Father had it coming_ , she reminded herself. _He was an evil man who tortured his subjects needlessly_.

_But are you any better? You know what they say about Targaryens..._

Daenerys did her best to shake the evil thoughts out of her head. _I can’t think like this._ She commanded herself. _If I look back, I’m lost._

Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult, and Daenerys clawed at her neckerchief, tearing off herself and tossing it aside. Her coat followed promptly, then her gloves and her boots, her trousers and her dress. Soon she was standing there dressed in nothing but her shift, panting as if she had been in battle.

A knock on the door brought her swiftly out of her daze, and her gaze snapped towards it. “Daenerys? Are you in there?”

Really Jon? Now? Daenerys did her best to steady her breathing and nodded. A beat followed before it occurred to her, the idiot, that a nod makes no sound and so she spoke up, her breathlessness obvious in her voice. “Yes, I am here.”

”I need to speak with you. Please, I need- please let me in.”   
  


It was only then it dawned on her that the door handle was rattling and she remembered that she had locked the door.

Ignoring the fact that she was wearing next to nothing, she was, after all, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, and the Dothraki held no shame in the naked body, besides, Jon had seen her plenty of times before, Daenerys strode impatiently towards the door, unlocked it, and moved out of its way so that it may freely swing open for Jon to enter.

Which he did. Without even looking at her. He opened the door, entered, closed it, and walked right past her and to the middle of the room, seemingly lost in thought or trying to compose a speech.

” I need- I need to say something, and I don’t know if it’s fair to tell you, but I need to talk about it and you are the only one-“

Silence.

In the middle of his rambling, he had finally looked at her and frozen mid-speech.

Daenerys simply stared back, her face unimpressed, her guard raised. 

Jon's eyes measured her from top to bottom and then up again. His mouth was open in surprise and his arms were hanging frozen in place from when he had turned around. This man could meet any army head-on, but the sight of a woman in her underclothes seemed to completely disarm him.

"I- uhm"

Daenerys raised an eyebrow in reply. Jon shook his head and brought himself back to earth. "Sam told me something. Something kind of big."

Disappointed, Daenerys lowered her eyes in defeat and nodded. She had heard this tirade from both Varys and Tyrion. They had disapproved of how she dealt with the Tarly's. Daenerys would have liked to see how they would have dealt with it. A bloodless revolution was a beautiful dream, but there are only so many times you can argue with a lion baring its fangs at you. Now Jon seemed to have joined their ranks. Disappointing.

"He is saddened by the fate of his brother and father, I understand that. If it helps any, I have received reports from the Hightowers that his mother and sister are still well, and ruling the region in their place. I was hoping, considering he is your sworn brother, that he might make a good ally." Daenerys looked up at him with a sad smile. 

Jon shook his head. "That's not it, he- " He sat down, motioning with his arm for her to do the same. He seemed to have some difficulty finding the right words. Jon didn't continue speaking until after Daenerys had sat down on the other side of the small round table, and he reached for her hands across it. Daenerys gave them to him, although she was keeping her guard up. Jon took a deep breath and bore his eyes into hers. "Daenerys, I'm a Targaryen."

Daenerys wanted to withdraw her hand, but Jon held it firmly. A thousand conflicting feelings welled up inside her, but the most pressing ones were confusion and disbelief. "What?"

Jon looked down, sucked on his lip and seemed to be measuring his words before he looked up to hold her gaze again. "According to my brother and Sam, Rhaegar, your brother, did not kidnap my aunt Lyanna. In fact, she's not my aunt at all. She's my mother. Sam read in the High Septon's diary that they were married, willingly, and Bran looked into the past and saw that they had a son, who apparently is me. My father - my uncle: Ned Stark promised Lyanna that he would protect her child because Robert Baratheon would kill me without hesitation, and so he hid me in plain sight as his bastard. As Ned Stark's bastard." 

Daenerys understood that Jon had tried to explain as best he could, but all the words had come out of him like a dam that had sprung a leak. He was probably too confused about it all himself to be able to lay it clearly for another person. "So you are.. my brother Rhaegar's legitimate son?" The words escaped her lips in the form of a whisper. Jon nodded. "That makes you my... nephew." Jon nodded again. "And you have a claim to the throne." Jon looked down. This was a lot. For both of them.

A thousand thoughts milled around in Daenerys head at a million miles an hour as she considered the consequences of this new discovery. So that's why Rhaegal had accepted him: because he had Targaryen blood. She wasn't the last Targaryen. Robert's rebellion had been built on a lie. Well not really, her father had needed to be taken down. Rhaegar had been honourable. Or had he? He did after all leave his first wife, the mother of his children. Children who suffered horrible deaths. Had Elia known? Jon was her nephew. Would he be repulsed by this? Would he accept her as his kin? Would he still accept her as his lover? He had a claim to the throne now. Would he press this? Would she need to fight him? Would Drogon and Rhaegal be forced to fight each other because Jon now rode Rhaegal? She was in his domain now, was her life already in danger, being surrounded by people loyal to him? Was he there to kill her? No, he held her hand. The Jon she knew could never hold her hand so lovingly if he was planning to harm her.

Daenerys shook her head, trying to think straight. "So what now?" she, at last, managed to splutter out. Jon took a deep breath and held her gaze. "I don't know." Daenerys sighed in reply and looked down, struck speechless from having too many conflicting thoughts.

"I feel like my whole life has been a lie," Jon said, causing her head to snap up and look at him again. "I have always been the Stark bastard. Now I learn that the man I know as my father was really my uncle and that my Lady aunt whom I never knew anything about, was my mother. I am not a bastard. I am not the aftermath of some desperate war-time tryst. I am the legitimate son of parents who loved each other. And the man I thought was my father, the most honourable man I've ever known, lied to me, and let me believe I was nothing."

Daenerys tilted her head emphatically and did her best to show a comforting smile, even though her mind was rising a mile a minute and she was becoming increasingly scared for her life. "Being my brother's son, you even have a stronger claim on the throne than me." She commented sadly to herself. All this work for all these years, and now another man would take all her power from her? It was nice to know she was not alone in the world, that the Targaryen restoration didn't solely rest on her shoulders. But she had spent too long building herself out of Viserys' shadow to bow to another family member, simply because he had a cock. 

Jon's eyes had widened though, when she said that, and he quickly shook his head. "I don't want it. I can't. The southerners are not my people, I've never been there. You are my Queen." He swallowed as if to make a point. "Now and always."

Daenerys heart shattered from his words. They sounded so sincere, but could she afford to trust them? "I had never been to Westeros since I was born, but I still knew its people were my responsibility. Would you forsake them?"

At this, Jon actually smiled. "I don't need to. As I said, you're their Queen. The best way I can serve them is by serving you." He then took a deep breath, and his voice shook when he spoke again. "Preferably by your side, though."

"You would still be with me?"

Jon nodded, then his face broke into a smile and he chuckled at the absurdity of it all. "I'm a Targaryen, aren't I? Compared to our ancestors, a union between us should pose no problem."

Daenerys stared at him, incredulous. Could it really be so easy? He had every right to challenge her claim and make his own, but he would back her. He even still wanted to be with her. "So it doesn't bother you? That we are kin?"

Jon shrugged. "You'd think so, but no. Close relative- marriage isn't that much different in the north. My grandparents were cousins. Honestly what bothers me the most about this is how my father, or, Ned Stark, kept me in the dark my entire life. I don't want to, but it makes me question his honour and the credibility of the other things he taught me."

Daenerys sighed and put her other hand on Jon's. "Call him father. He might not have sired you, but he raised you, and although he might have lied to you, he did so out of love. Love for you and for your mother. In all aspects but blood, I'm certain Ned Stark was the father my brother would have wished to be for you."

Jon nodded at first, looking down to collect his thoughts, then suddenly stood up. Daenerys was alarmed at first and felt ready to call the guards when he walked around the table to stand before her. All the years in exile had taught her that although a person seems trustworthy, you never know when they might turn. Then, he knelt. "Jon, what are you doing?" She heard herself whisper. "Something I should have done a long time ago," was his reply. Then he looked up, and held out his hand, palm facing upwards as an invitation for her to lay hers in.

"I, Jon Snow, of House Stark, and apparently House Targaryen, pledge my life to the service of Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Rightful Queen of the Seven kingdoms, the first of her name. Queen of the Andals, The Roynar and the First Men, protector of the realm, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of Meereen, Astapor and Yunkai, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt...... is that all of them?" He made a face, searching his brain to see if he had remembered all of her titles. Daenerys giggled and went through the mental checklist herself. "No, I think, that's all of them, " she finally said once she had gone through the list in her head and laughed again.

Jon smiled, then steeled himself, took a deep breath and continued. "I hereby renounce any claim I have on the Iron throne as its solitary ruler, unless it is as the Queen's consort. And I'll be happy to do so again in written form."

Daenerys drew her breath sharply. Had he just? "Did you just say... what I think you said?" Jon nodded quickly, seemingly sitting on pins and needles waiting for her answer. Daenerys, her eyes wide with surprise regarded him slowly, reading his face for any falsehood. "Yes." Her voice was so quiet as if she had barely dared raise it, and to help her message along, she nodded quickly.

Jon's face exploded into happiness, and before she had time to register him moving, his lips were on hers in a hard, desperate kiss. Daenerys, after a moment's hesitation, to assure herself that this had in fact actually happened, wrapped her arms around his neck and wove her fingers through his hair, holding him close and returning the kiss. She hadn't even noticed that they were moving before her back hit the pelts of the bed and he was on top of her, his hands stroking the curve of her waist, then massaging her collarbone, then grabbing her ass so hard that she dug her nails into the back of his neck in surprise, then caressing her thighs, then....

Suddenly he withdrew and sat up. Daenerys barely had time to collect her thoughts, look around and confirm that yes, she was, in fact, lying in her bed, before she heard leather and metal clasps clatter against the floor, and he was kissing her again. With her help, his breeches soon hit the floor too, and they were lying there only in their underclothes, which were hastily drawn up to her waist. They would have plenty of time for romance later, right now she needed to feel him in her, and he fulfilled her unsaid wish with a single, merciless thrust. Daenerys gasped loudly at having been filled so completely, so fast. Her breath quickened with the rhythm of Jon working in her and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him tightly to her. Her heart fluttered when he growled from pleasure into her neck and she tightened, feeling the release building up within her. Then, with a final thrust, Jon pressed himself deep inside her, bringing her over the edge.

A moment later, the bed shook as he collapsed next to her, panting. Daenerys, having come down from her high, smiled and ran her hand affectionately across his chest. He was hers. From now on, he would always be hers. Now and always.

* * *

They were still lying in bed, Daenerys on her stomach, and Jon caressing her back, running his calloused fingers slowly and softly up and down her back along her spine. They had been quiet for a while, save for her content hums of pleasure as he stroked her back, when Jon suddenly spoke. 

His voice was quiet and hesitant as if he doubted his right to raise the subject. "I wish I knew more about them," he confessed. Alert at the vulnerability in his voice, Daenerys hoisted herself up on her elbows and then rolled to the side so that she could look straight at him. "Your parents?" 

Jon's reply was a quiet nod.

If there was any sentiment Daenerys could ever understand it was wishing to know more about their late family, so she reached out her hand to cup his cheek affectionately. He leant into her hand, then cupped it with his own, pressing her hand to his cheek, then he pulled out of her touch and, while still holding her hand, kissed the inside of her palm lovingly. 

"I don't know much about Lady Lyanna," Daenerys offered," but I've always been told that my brother was honourable and gallant. Ser Barristan told me that he liked to sneak out of the Red Keep to sing songs and play the harp for the smallfolk. The money they earned from this he would often donate to poor houses and orphanages, although sometimes he would use it to get epically drunk with his Gold Cloaks. From what I've heard, I am confident I would have enjoyed his company and friendship. He seems to have been the kind of man I feel it is a great loss to never have known. I sometimes wonder what he would have thought of me, had he ever had the chance to know me." Her voice was soft, almost like a whisper, a reflex from earlier days when she had been afraid to, as her brother Viserys had put it "wake the dragon".

Suddenly, she felt her cheeks burning. It almost didn't feel right to long for her brother this much, when Jon had such a strong claim on him. Yes, he was her brother, but he had been Jon's father. Or should have been... It was a great tragedy, it seemed to her, that none of them had been allowed to know him.

Then, just as suddenly, Jon sat up bolt straight, his eyes wide with epiphany. "Bran," he said simply.

Her face the very image of a questionnaire, Daenerys looked at him, her eyebrow quirking in a bid for him to, for the love of the Seven, explain what he meant. 

"Bran can look into the past. We could ask him about my parents!"

Daenerys just stared at him with wide eyes as the realisation of what he had said dawned on her. She had wanted to know what her family was like her entire life, having to "survive" on snippets from what Viserys and Ser Barristan and Ser Willem had told her as well as the re-tellings she could find in the history books. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she'd be able to learn more than what nostalgic eyes would regale. "And mother.." she whispered. The words spilt out of her lips before she could stop them. Jon nodded and held out his hand to help her onto her feet as he himself stood up. Taking her hand, Daenerys let herself be yanked forward into his embrace, meeting his kiss with urgency and affection as he held her tight. Then, just as quickly as he had pulled her in, he let go. They nodded to each other and each searched for their respective clothes, eager to get dressed and locate Bran Stark. 

Once fully dressed, Daenerys reached for the door, but was stopped by Jon who whirled her around and pressed her up against the door, kissing her hard and long before gently letting her down on the ground again. "He will tell us everything Daenerys, I know it. We will ask, and we will get it. The truth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure about the accuracy of the incest in the Stark Family. On the wiki page it says that Rickard Stark and his wife Lyarra (nee Flint) were first cousins - once removed, which I honestly have no idea what means. But when I look at the family tree, it looks like Rickard's father and Lyarra were cousins.
> 
> I have a person like that in my family (whom I'm not married to though) who is the cousin of my mother. I just call her aunt. Same with her mother, who is technically my mother's aunt. We had no title for her, so I grew up calling her too aunt.


	8. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the help of Bran, Daenerys and Jon get to learn more about who their late family members were.

They found Bran in the Godswood, underneath the great Weirwood tree with the black pond before it. His eyes were white, indicating that his mind was elsewhere, but as they approached him, he returned to his body and looked at them. Jon found it eerie how Bran would look at them now. The inquisitive, affectionate boy he had left behind when he took the black had disappeared completely, and all that remained was a void with his brother's face.

"The Night King is making his way towards Karhold," Bran's voice commented as soon as his eyes were back to the Stark dark grey he was born with. "It seems he is planning on wiping out every settlement he can before clashing with your remaining dragons, Your Grace. Lucky for us, that buys us some time."

Every reminder of Viserion's fate felt like a punch in Daenerys gut, but she nodded solemnly, grateful for the tactical advantage Bran Stark's abilities afforded them. "We were hoping you would be able to tell us more about Lyanna and Rhaegar." Jon started. "How they met, what they were like, why they decided to run away and such.."

Bran's face turned towards Jon's with an empty stare, and then his eyes turned white. "They were at the tourney at Harrenhall..." Bran's voice was void of emotion as he relayed what he was seeing. "Princess Elia had been nervous to go because of her weakened state after Aegon's birth, but the festivities seemed to reinvigorate her. After she saw Aunt Lyanna stand up for Howland Reed, she decided to get to know her better. At the feast the first night, they sat together. They were happy in each other's company. Elia told Rhaegar about this and he included tributary words and themes to her in his song, causing her to cry with happiness. The next day, Rhaegar crowned Lyanna as the Queen of Love and Beauty, and Elia smiled."

Jon and Daenerys sat in stunned silence as they listened to Bran exposing the truth about Rhaegar, Elia, and Lyanna’s relationship. Rhaegar had known for years that his father was unfit for the throne and planned on usurping it, marrying Lyanna and thus making the three of them the three heads of the dragon of House Targaryen. Princess Elia hadn’t been a spurned wife, she and Lyanna had their own relationship, sending numerous ravens to each other during the lead up to their deaths. It was through the princess Lyanna had learnt of Rhaegar’s death, and the women, still considering themselves each other’s spouses mourned him together through letters. Upon Ned’s arrival at the Tower of Joy, Lyanna understood that Elia too was gone from the world, and having lost both her spouses lost her will to fight after having given birth to Jon.

“You were supposed to be called Aemon,” Bran’s voice was still emotionless and thus barely reached out past the pond before him “that was the name the three of them had decided to give you. But once Lyanna understood what had become of Elia’s children, she decided to name you after your older brother, Aegon.”

Daenerys could hear Jon’s breath hitch next to her every now and then and grabbed his hand to comfort him. A reassuring squeeze was returned, and she leaned against him as Bran continued.

“Queen Rhaella has left some weeks prior for Dragonstone. She hated leaving her daughter in law and her grand-children behind, but the mad king wouldn’t let them go. She loved them. And they loved her. She had often stayed up, telling Princess Rhaenys all sorts of stories of heroes from her ancestry: Martell and Targaryen both. She was afraid, at first, when she realised she was pregnant again, but relieved that her child probably wouldn’t know their father, as the mad king soon ordered her to take Prince Viserys to Dragonstone. The mad king never even knew he had another child on the way.”

Now it was Daenerys’ breath that was becoming unstable. She managed, after a fashion, to breathe slowly and deliberately, not affording herself to miss a single word that came out Bran Stark’s mouth, though a steady stream of tears were rolling down her cheeks as she longed for these women she would never know.

“Once on Dragonstone, Queen Rhaella would dream that dragons would wake in the mountains and come spirit them away from it all. She wasn’t interested in ruling. Although mindful of her duty, what she wished for most was a quiet life where she could tell stories to her children and grandchildren, and sing. She would sing to you, Your Grace, while you were in her belly. Sometimes Prince Viserys would join in, and although he didn’t have the refined skill of his mother and older brother, he made up for it in enthusiasm.”

It was almost too much to bear. As a child, Viserys had, when he felt safe, occasionally shared happy memories of their mother. But in the later years, he had been so far gone and cruel that it had been difficult to remember his good side. Sure, Daenerys had named her son after him, in an effort to remember those moments, but lately it had been difficult, and she was thankful for these new memories Bran now gave her that reminded her that for all his cruelty, Viserys too had once been an innocent, happy child.

Suddenly, the crunching of snow could be heard and Daenerys tore her eyes away from Bran Stark to see Ser Jorah approaching. “Ser Jorah!” She said surprised, using the back of her gloves to wipe the tears from her face and mustering a smile to greet her oldest friend. “What brings you here?”

Although her voice was kind Ser Jorah stopped in his tracks, suddenly bashful, as if he had happened upon an intimate scene. “I was simply wondering where you had wandered off to Khaleesi. Following the incident in the Great Hall I was hoping to offer my council, though, as you’ve commanded, not in front of strangers.” He hesitated for a beat, blue eyes shifting between the two Stark “brothers”. “I hope I am not intruding?” He finally said as his eyes came to rest on his Queen.

Daenerys shook her head insistently. “Not at all, my dear friend. Lord Bran has been using his gifts to tell me more about my late family. Being in the presence of the Stark siblings has made me realise how wanting I’ve been for information about my own brothers. I know what Viserys was in the end, but it has been such a relief to be reminded of who he was as a child, and what kind of man he could have been, had he not been left an exiled orphan at such a tender age.” She felt Jon shift uncomfortably next to her but kept her eyes on Ser Jorah. For someone who didn’t feel it in their bones and seared into their skin every time they moved, it must be discomforting to be reminded of the childhood she and Viserys had been forced to endure and survive through.

Ser Jorah’s eyes went round as he too remembered the fabled abilities of the youngest surviving Stark. He seemed to want to say something, but the words clung to his lips as he shifted from staring determined at the Stark boy, to concerned and sadly at Daenerys. “Your suspicions are correct, Ser.” Bran Stark’s disinterested voice rang out, causing everyone’s attention to snap towards him.

”The baby was premature but healthy. The witch lied and strangled it after it was born. There was never any curse.”

The words rang in her ears.   
  


It couldn’t be.

Lord Bran was talking about someone else’s child, surely?

But what other child did she know of whose birth was done in the vicinity of a vengeful witch?

Strangled sobs escaped as the weight and meaning of Bran’s words dawned on her, and she sank into Jon’s arms who enveloped her, holding her tight as he too understood the implications.

Her voice had lost all its strength, but she needed to be sure, and with great effort she managed to whisper the name she hadn’t allowed herself to speak for years.

”Rhaego?”


	9. Belonging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It dawned on me that this has been a heck of a long day. All these eight chapters so far has taken place on the same day 🤯

Jon held his lady tight, rocking her slowly as she sobbed hysterically into his chest. Ser Jorah has sank to his knees, tears freezing on his cheeks in the cold winter air. He had probably always hoped his suspicions were wrong.

Daenerys’ first child had been murdered in cold blood, and she, thinking it was her own foolishness that lead to his death, had carried the blame alone all these years.

Having always thought he would die childless at the wall, Jon found it impossible to completely fathom the depths of parental grief Daenerys was experiencing, and so he just rocked her and kissed her hair softly until her muffled screams died down into soft, exhausted mewling.

When he looked up, Bran’s eyes were white again, probably keeping an eye on the movements of the Army of the Dead.

Eventually, Daenerys shifted and he loosened his grip on her allowing her to look up at him. Her eyes were red, her face was soaked, and her hair looked like a ball of yarn after the cat has been at it. Even in the depths of despair, her beauty took his breath away.

Affectionately, he pressed a kiss to her forehead as she first sat up, then made to stand up. She was a little wobbly at first, having had her entire world up-ended, but she collected herself in that manner Jon had seen her do too many times when shutting her feelings away, and that he was sad to know she would continue doing countless times in her role as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. He would give anything to shield her from further pain, but he knew it was inevitable. Such was the life she was leading.

With a quiet “Thank you, my Lord,” which Jon doubted Bran heard, Daenerys started walking away from the weirwood tree, stopping to brace herself on the supporting arm of Ser Jorah, who had now also stood up.   
  


“If you’ll forgive me, my Lords, I’m going to need to lie down.” She said to both of them. Jon nodded. “I’ll take you to your chambers, Khaleesi.” The old bear said as he held out a supporting arm for her to lean on. Jon silently cursed himself, feeling jealous of the intimacy, history, and trust between Ser Jorah and the Queen, but Daenerys’ sharp protest yanked him out of such thoughts when she surprised them both with a blunt “No.”

”Take me to my tent. I need to be among my own.”

Her command confused Jon at first. Why would she not be among her own in the keep? Was it because of Sansa? But then it hit him. Daenerys might have been born the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, but the Dothraki were the first people she actually ruled. The first she actually belonged with.

The two men both nodded and Jon let Ser Jorah lead her away. The fact that she didn’t ever look back made his heart crack, but deep down he knew that her mind was occupied completely with thoughts of her first son.

* * *

Jon had stood rooted to his spot for a while after Daenerys and Ser Jorah has disappeared out of sight, his mind racing with desperation of trying to find out what he could do to ease her pain, and struck with helplessness over the fact that there was nothing.

At last he looked at his brother, who was far down the rabbit hole, and decided to leave as well. However, he had only walked a couple of steps when Bran’s voice broke the silence behind him.

”She is.”

He said simply, answering Jon’s unvoiced question.

”Her Tyroshi lover was sterile, having lost the ability in the fighting rings, which is why nothing ever came of their liaison. But the two of you conceived a child on your third night on the boat. She is only three weeks along. She doesn’t even know it herself yet.”

Jon’s eyes widened, and he could feel his heart hammering out of his chest. Part of him wanted to bolt after her and share the wonderful news, but she had experienced too much that day and was currently dissolved in grief over her first child. He decided that, difficult as it might be, he would let her find out on her own.

Then, a wave of worry washed through him. They weren’t married. Should he fall in battle, the child would be a bastard. A royal bastard, but a bastard nonetheless. He did not wish that on his own child.

His own child!

Jon’s heart jumped in his chest. He was going to be a father. Never before today had he allowed himself to dream of such a future, and now here it was: all within his grasp.

His head was spinning, and he could feel his feet moving, but he didn’t recognise where he was going until he found himself sat in the nook of Rhaegal’s wing, leaning his back against the great dragon’s warm body.

His connection to the dragons made sense now that he knew his parentage, in contrast to what they had known that morning when Rhaegar had accepted him as his rider. It had a wonderful ironic twist to it, that he had ended up bonded to a dragon named after his own father.

They sat in silence for a while as the moon rose in the distance and the stars started appearing. Northern nights were beautiful but unforgivingly cold, but leaned up against a dragon, Jon felt comfortably toasty as he stared up at the dark sky, mind numb from everything that had happened that day.

”They accept you?” Her voice was one of the last he had expected to hear here, but when Jon looked at the source of the sound, there she was. Arya had always been sneaky, but he guessed whatever she had been doing in Braavos had honed this skill to perfection.

”Aye.” He said simply, shuffling over to make space for her. “You won’t mind, will you Rhaegal?” The dragon simply huffed with disinterest, so Jon shrugged his shoulders and patted his hand on the spot on the wing next to him for Arya to come and sit.

In all honesty, he wanted to tell her why. Wanted to tell her the truth of who he was, why the dragons accepted him, and what he had asked of Daenerys. But then he remembered how if all had made him feel about their father, or his uncle, and then he decided to let it wait until he could find the right words. He didn’t want Arya to suffer the same crisis of trust in the late Ned Stark.

Wide-eyed Arya walked over, and though hesitant as she first touched the dragon, Jon could see the excitement bubble within her as his little sister sat down on Rhaegal’s wing and leaned against him.

”All those years, reading about them, never in your wildest dreams had you thought you’d actually see one, right?” Jon chuckled as he watched Arya looking at Drogon with awe.

”Never....” she replied with a breathless smile. “They are magnificent!”

Jon chuckled affectionately and leaned his head back with closed eyes, revelling in the joy of his sister.

”The Night King has one too, though?”

The happy bubble burst with her question and Jon stared ahead at the frozen waste, nodding. “Aye, he does.” He said darkly.

”How will we defeat it?”

”The Queen and I will have to fight him on dragon back.”

”It let’s you ride it?

Finally there was something to smile at again, and Jon did, turning his head to look at his little sister. She had been so strange, so cold ever since coming back, and it made sense, after a fashion, considering how quickly she had had to grow up, but here she was again: his little sister Arya, full of awe and wonder for dragons and heroes. “Him. His name is Rhaegal. The Queen named him for her older brother.”

Arya frowned. “The one who kidnapped and raped aunt Lyanna.”

”He didn’t, actually.” Jon felt delighted to at least remedy that tidbit of historical inaccuracy regarding his true parents, and especially Lyanna, whom Arya had always idolised for being strong and fierce but then disappointing by allowing herself to get kidnapped.

”Lyanna wasn’t kidnapped. She went away with Rhaegar willingly. They loved each other.”

Frowning again, Arya looked up at him. “So the entire rebellion was a lie? Uncle Brandon and Grandfather died for nothing?”

Jon mirrored her frown, trying to find the right way to explain. “Yes, and no. They thought they were defending her honour, but the mad king burned them because he was a paranoid tyrant, and the rebellion was officially started when Jon Arryn refused to send him Robert and Ned’s heads.”

Arya looked at him, then turned her head to the frozen waste, and they sat there in silence for a short while before she spoke again. Her voice was low now. “And now we have a new Targaryen on the throne. The mad king’s daughter.”

Jon sighed in response. “She might be his daughter, but she is nothing like him.”

”How do you know that?”

”Because I know her. I’ve spent time with her on Dragonstone, we’ve discussed politics and war strategies. She is level-headed, compassionate and kind. And she will make a good Queen for the Seven Kingdoms.”

Arya huffed. “They say every time a Targaryen is born..”

”the Gods flip a coin, yes I know Arya.” Jon was getting impatient now. “But I’m telling you that her coin has landed. And it is good. Where is all this Targaryen distrust suddenly coming from by the way? As a child you would never shut up about Visenya the warrior Queen, or Queen Rhaenyra and how you thought it was bullshit that the realm wouldn’t follow her.”

Arya was silent. “I don’t know her. She’s not one of us.” She said finally, to which Jon and Rhaegal both huffed irritably. 

“Well I suggest you do get to know her.” He said and climbed down from Rhaegal’s arm, walked over to his face and scratched his snout. “Because she’s going to become one of us. As my wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet, yes I know. I just wanted them to get a good night’s rest, but I also wanted to get a Jon-Arya scene in before night time, so here it is.
> 
> It never made sense for Arya to just blindly hate Daenerys, the Essosi, or the dragons. But then again, hers was just another character dumb&dumber threw on the scrap heap to force the narrative of the mad queen in the last season. As I’ve said, this fic is all about fixing the characters and give them actual personalities again.
> 
> Except for Tyrion and Sansa. This fic is also cathartic revenge for their bullshit.


	10. Mhysa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys spends some time amongst her own and deals with years of pent-up grief
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING!!!  
> Rape, slavery, infanticide, miscarriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late you guys! I’ve been thinking all summer how I’ve neglected writing, and it isn’t like I’ve had writer’s block, my head’s been racing through plots and scenes a mile a minute, but I simply haven’t had the drive to sit down, sort through it and put pen to paper (or, y’know, thumb to screen-keyboard).
> 
> For the four of you patient enough to still follow this story though, you guys are stars, and I am eternally grateful to you. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> NB! Please take the trigger warnings seriously!

She woke up that morning surrounded by familiar smells. There was a scent of frost in the air, reminding her that they weren’t actually on the Great Grass Sea, but everything else made her heart ache with nostalgia. The musky scent of horses hoofs, the sheep stew bubbling in a pot not far from here, the guttural yet jovial sounds of Dothraki men making jokes to each other as they passed the walls of her tent. Daenerys might still have found herself in the frozen and unfriendly North, but the Dothraki camp outside the Winterfell walls was like a little slice of home away from home.

Then she heard some sounds she wasn’t as used to hearing. A voice, usually gentle and calm, but now agitated and breathy. A sense of alarm caused Daenerys to fly out of her furs to the tent flap and throw it aside, only to feel the chill of the Northern winter envelop her naked body like a frozen slap to her face. The air knocked from her lungs in surprise, Daenerys gasped, but stayed in her place, eyes scanning the people assembled for Missandei’s face.   
  
She didn’t have to search long. Most of the people present were Dothraki men, most of whom were roaring with laughter, their heads tipped back and their arms clenching their stomachs, because of what Daenerys had just done, but towards her rushed a smaller, darker frame, and with a flurry of gentle reprimands in high Valyrian, Missandei quickly coaxed Daenerys back into the warmth of her tent.

 _”The leathers might smell of the Great Grass Sea, your Grace, but the northern frost will kill you if you forget even for a moment where you are”_ Shivering, Daenerys nodded while Missandei brought forth her clothes, thankfully receiving and pulling over her head her cotton shift as Missandei handed it to her.

The next garment held towards her was the white winter coat with red lining. Daenerys look at it for a moment, then shook her head. It had been made in the style of the Westerosi. Daenerys had always made sure to incorporate the culture of the local people into her wardrobe, but today especially, Westeros had no claim to her.   
  


Missandei looked puzzled as Daenerys didn’t take the coat, but walked over to a completely different chest, tenderly kneeling down before opening it and reaching for something inside. Only when she walked over to peek over Daenerys’ shoulder could she see that it was a dark blue apron accented with straw embroidery and stripes of fur.

The coarse weave looked strange against Daenerys fine cotton shift, and she stroked her hand between them, thinking about how much time had passed, and how far she had come since then. Or had she really? When Drogo died, she had proclaimed herself Khaleesi in her own right, and stubborn men too stuck in their own misogyny and pride had denounced her as a mad woman and left her to die. She might be standing on the soil that belonged to her ancestors, and therefore her by right, but the sentiment seemed to remain the same.

Quietly, she bound the apron around her waist and let her hand glide from her midriff to the spot she had last felt her son kick - and crumbled into tears. “ _Daenerys!”_ Missandei’s gentle hands were on her at once, catching her as her knees went weak and the two women tumbled to the floor together, Missandei holding her Queen as she quietly weeped, shushing her and stroking her hair, reciting poetry about grief in Valyrian, in Ghiscari, and finally, some sort of sweet lullaby in Naathi.

Daenerys just let the tears fall, her miseries feeling like they were leaking out of her head as she cried, leaving her head empty, letting her only listen to the words Missandei sang so sweetly as they gently rocked her out of her the most intense feelings.

Missandei had finished her Naathi lullaby and they rocked in silence for a beat before Daenerys mustered her courage to speak up and told her best friend the story of her her first born.

She was certain she had told the story of how the witch murdered her husband and child, left her barren, and prompted her to hatch her dragons before, but this time the focus was on her human son, all the dreams she had had for him while he was still growing inside her, and the grief and guilt she had carried ever since he was taken from her. Missandei sat quietly through it all, simply stroking her friend’s hair until she finished her tale.

” _There is nothing in the world that can relieve you of the pain of losing a child”_ she whispered, and Daenerys had to sit up and look her friend in the eyes, her own fear and incredulity shining in her violet eyes. Because the tone of Missandei’s voice was _too_ familiar, she sounded like she _knew too well_ , and parts of Daenerys simply didn’t want to allow this kind of evil to have befallen her friend, even if it was in the past and thus far beyond her reach.

But as their eyes locked, Missandei simply nodded, and Daenerys’ heart broke anew. “ _No. No, Sweetling, please no!”_ Daenerys reaches forward with shaking hands, cupping Missandei’s face as tears started rolling down the Naathi woman’s face.

” _As a perk when Kraznys made a good deal with certain of his return customers, he would lend me to them during the nights of their stay. When my daughter was born, I thought my bleak existence finally had meaning. Feeding her at my breast was like having the sun shine inside me. She was a week old when an unsullied soldier tore her from my arms and slit her throat before my eyes. With the help of some other women we burned her body with cloves and old Ghiscari prayers. The next time I got pregnant Kraznys personally beat me until I miscarried. After that, I was regularly fed moon tea.”_

Missandei’s voice was hollow as she spoke. As if this horrible fate had befallen some damsel in a storybook, and she was simply reading it out loud.

Daenerys was lost for words. She knew Missandei had been ill abused in Astapor, but she could never have imagined..... even now, she couldn’t believe the words spilling from Missandei’s lips. It was simply too horrible.

 _”Would that I could bring Kraznys back to life so that I could burn him to a crisp all over again.”_ Daenerys cursed, her voice a mere whisper. 

Missandei merely nodded. Her eyes downcast.

“ _What was her name?”_ Daenerys pleaded, and Missandei’s golden eyes, round and fresh with grief, revealing that she had indeed not allowed herself to deal with her grief while in captivity, shot up to meet Daenerys’ own.

” _Naya_.” She choked, speaking her child’s name out loud for the first time in too many years. _“It is a Naathi word associated with bright, warm sunrise after a dark and starless night.”_

* * *

The sun stood high in the sky when Daenerys and Missandei emerged from the tent, again clad in their Westerosi coats, ready to face the present troubles of the day.

Seeing them, Jharro, who had been squatting by a campfire stood up and approached them. _“Khaleesi. Medamina, how may I be of service?”_ He growled in Dothraki. Daenerys’ eyes were still red from the tears, but he was gracious enough not to make a note of this traditional sign of weakness. His Khaleesi might suffer from female sensitivities, but she showed strength in that she always got up in the saddle again, and he took pride in knowing that if anyone doubted her power, they would soon find themselves crushed beneath her hooves.

Daenerys smiled warmly at her blood-rider and answered him in his own language “ _I heard you gave your Medamina knowledge of how to use a sword. I too would benefit from this, in case I should ever find myself not riding.”_

The idea of his Khaleesi not fighting on dragon back seemed to physically repulse Jharro, as if the thought of there existing anyone out there able to unseat her offended him to the core, but eventually he nodded. _“The Khal of Khals is mighty already, I will be honoured to add to her strength.”_

Jharro’s pride in his Khaleesi warmed her heart and even though grief still coloured her features, her face broke into a proud grin. _“Shall we begin?”_

* * *

The sky had begun to darken by the time a Westerosi dared venture into their midst. They had spent all day, practicing sword forms, learning how to use a bow, and getting knocked to the ground from every angle possible. Daenerys, Missandei, and a couple Dothraki women who had jumped on the chance to learn how to fight, now lay strewn across each other around a bonfire, flanked by male warriors, the entire lot of them laughing jovially and sharing stories.

A woman named Syrah, who had never held a bow before except when carrying them for a man, and who had impressed them royally with her marksmanship, had just finished a story about how she had convinced husband, blood rider to then-Khal who had only just inherited the position from his recently deceased father, that there was an herb growing in the ruins of an old Ghiscari settlement, that when eaten would cause horses to grow wings. The men had then torn the ruined city to pieces for a month before giving up, giving the womenfolk some well deserved peace and quiet.

The women present all howled from laughter at this, and while most of the men seemed to share in the hilarity, a few of them were looking around at each other embarrassingly, revealing that they had all fallen for that lie a time or two before.

When she noticed him, Daenerys had to give it to him that the imp had balls to dare to walk through the Dothraki camp without escort.   
  


“My Queen,” he said, upon approaching them; Daenerys noticed he was still wearing his Hand of the Queen-pin. “With your permission, we were hoping to convene for a war-meeting this evening. Only if it is convenient for you, of course.”

He seemed to finally have learned his place and stopped trying to lecture her, Daenerys noticed. Good. Even if this humility and courtesy of his were fake, it was refreshing. ”We?” Daenerys mused, laughter still flushing her cheeks from laughing at Syrah’s story. “Who are “We?””

Tyrion seemed to flush at the question, as if the importance of her Westerosi allies above er Essosi forces should be painfully obvious. “Lady Sansa, your Grace, and the Court of Winterfell.”

Daenerys, slightly flushed from fermented mare’s milk and good company giggled, then stood up. “ _Mighty folk indeed_ ” she commented in Dothraki, prompting another wave of laughter from her companions before she looked good naturedly at Tyrion, deciding that even though the mere sight of him brought pins and needles to her brain these days, he would not be allowed to break her good mood: She had worked too hard to distract herself from the tragedies of the past. “Very well then,” she said, switching to the common tongue. “Syrah and Jharro will represent the horde, Make sure to fetch Grey Worm and Brown Rat, they will be able to give advice regarding the unsullied soldiers, Missandei, will you join me?”   
  


Missandei, having thrown her inhibitions to the wind in present company, smiled, took Daenerys’ extended hand to help herself up, and composed herself in her normal dignified manner. Daenerys had a feeling it was a kindness as to not melt Tyrion’s poor highborn brain with the shock of swing her so altered. “ _Of course, Khaleesi_ ” she replied in Dothraki.

Tyrion seemed to want to object to the great addition to people attending the meeting, probably only having expected her, Missandei, Grey Worm and the otherwise Westeros-centric members of Daenerys‘ council to be present. A blank, yet challenging glance from Daenerys, however, stopped his protests dead in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a rule, Daenerys and Missandei usually speak high Valyrian when alone or with unsullied, unless specifically practising the common tongue with Grey Worm. Then, of course, when with Dothraki people, they speak Dothraki. Generally, if you see speech written in italics, they are not speaking the common tongue.
> 
> For anyone who found Missandei’s past too gruesome, I am really sorry, but it is common knowledge that slaves have been exploited sexually in our history, so it would make sense that they have been in Essos as well. I really do apologise though, if you were offended because I decided to make an already horrible backstory even more harrowing. Just because it makes sense for me, and (for me) fleshes out Missandei’s trauma, doesn’t mean everyone’s ok with reading about it. Yes, I didn’t have to go that route, but as I said, for me it made sense, and I didn’t want to shy away from it.


	11. Straight for the castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes argue how best to defend Winterfell and the northern people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sick of all these people talking, sick of all this noise  
> Tired of all these cameras flashing, sick of being poised  
> Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it  
> Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it
> 
> I'm headed straight for the castle  
> They wanna make me their queen  
> And there's an old man sitting on the throne  
> That's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean  
> I'm headed straight for the castle  
> They've got the kingdom locked up  
> And there's an old man sitting on the throne  
> That's saying I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut  
> Straight for the castle
> 
> Oh, all these minutes passing, sick of feeling used  
> If you wanna break these walls down, you're gonna get bruised  
> Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it  
> Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it
> 
> \- Halsey, Castle

Arms linked, Missandei and Daenerys made their way through the dark, winding hallways of the keep until they reached Daenerys’ official quarters to freshen up before the meeting. The halls of Winterfell were colder than what they were used to, but they didn’t need to wear outerwear inside.

With Missandei’s help, Daenerys washed off the sweat from sword training and tied her hair back with two braids on each side of heat head, meeting in the back, clasped with a silver dragon ornament, and then cascading freely. This being a battle meeting they were going to, a dozen or so, small silver bells were fastened in various places around in her hair so that they would chime every time she moved, reminding everyone that she was not some green girl, but a queen who had earned her status through many a battle.

Her skin rubbed with a floral-scented lotion to keep soft even in the winter weather, she pulled on a clean cotton shift and then a charcoal dress made in the northern fashion, with a brilliant blue cravat. The dress had swirling dragons embroidered on with details of black and dark blue beading. The cut and weight of the gown was rather different than Daenerys was used to, and she enjoyed feeling the heavy folds carrying her momentum onwards as she turned.

Missandei’s gown was similar, but with the addition of sapphire blue embroidered butterflies mingling with the dragons. _“A dress befitting our Medamina,”_ Daenerys smiled proudly as she fastened a dragon pin to Missandei’s chest. _“Let’s not for a minute allow them to doubt your station.”_

Locking eyes with her friend, Daenerys waited until Missandei gave a consenting nod to show that she was ready, then walked out the door, making her way towards the library.

* * *

The room was abuzz with voices. The lords and ladies of the North were talking in hushed voices, casting confused, accusing, or poorly disguised disgusted glances at Daenerys who was now dressed as if she had always been one of them, only her hair and her violet eyes giving away her Valyrian ancestry.

Wearing her most innocent smile, Daenerys had stood at the head of the table, pretending she could only hear that they were talking but not what they were saying, for about ten minutes before she had lost patience and distracted herself from diplomatic boredom by studying the maps lain our before her.

Daenerys had of course seen maps of the North before in books, and as a part of the painted table at Dragonstone, but this one was more detailed, and she expected: precise, than the ones she’d seen before. Her fingers traced a quarter of an inch above the parchment as her eyes followed dominion borders between Houses, topographic dips and rises that would be strategic knowledge on dragon back, rivers and torrents, and anything else that might be worth making a mental note of whilst waiting for the room to become quiet.

Every now and then she had glanced up to take note of the shifts in the room. So far, her Essosi allies had all showed up. She was happy to notice that Syrah and Jharro had also been so kind as to freshen up before joining them, and that Syrah had shown better farsight than herself and brought Cenna, a Tyroshi girl who had once been gifted as a slave as tribute when Khal Moro had approached the city, to translate the common tongue for them.

Jon had yet to show up, but Arya Stark was lurking in the rafters to her left and up, and Sansa Stark had marched in, her nose so high up in the air, it was a miracle she hadn’t collided with her younger sister in the ceiling, about 5 minutes ago.

”The Wolfswood is vast, your Grace. Vast and wild.” Lyanna Mormont was suddenly standing beside her, apparently offering first-hand information in addition to what Daenerys could only know from books. Although, as a consolation, she was near certain her practical knowledge of the region already by far outweighed that of Sansa Stark’s.  
  


“According to what I’ve read, my ancestors used to rule those very woods, a long long time ago,” Daenerys replied without taking her eyes off the map to look at Lady Lyanna.

“Your ancestors used to rule all of Westeros, although many of them barely stepped foot outside King’s Landing,” the younger Lady quipped, clearly still not satisfied with the political situation.   
  


“I was thinking about the Blackwoods. My great grandmother was born a Blackwood. They say they used to rule the Wolfswood before the Kings of Winter drove them south to the Riverlands. In a different life, I might have grown up a northern girl rather than an exile princess.”

Lady Lyanna did not have an answer for that, so Daenerys took her eyes off the map and looked at her with a kind, yet honestly weary smile. “Alas, history threw its coin a long time ago and I was given the task to restore my family’s name from one of disgrace.” Then, to switch the topic before the Lady could have time to consider exactly what Daenerys had meant by that: “Your seat is called Mormont keep, is that correct? Would you show me Bear Island, my Lady?”

“Of course, your Grace,” Lyanna Mormont replied politely, having refound her tongue, and shifted so that she could see the map better, then, with her index finger planted firmly on the spot, she added “Bear Island, your Grace. Here We Stand.”

“Here We Stand.” Daenerys echoed, her eyes fixed on the drawing of the island’s position on the map. “Yours is a true island, is it not? Even in the harshest of winters, the rough seas break any attempt for a frozen bridge to the mainland?” Lady Lyanna retrieved her hand, straightened her back and looked at Daenerys. “It is, your Grace. We are very much alone out there. How -?”   
  


“Ser Jorah has told me much of his ancestral lands. He recollects every woodland, every meadow, every brook so fondly, it makes me feel like I know it without having had the pleasure of seeing it for myself.”

The lady seemed to flinch and frown at the mention of her traitor cousin’s name, but other than that she showed very little reaction. “My cousin brought shame upon our shores with his actions.” She stated plainly, to which Daenerys nodded in agreement with a low hum, again seeming to surprise the lady.

“Ned Stark’s judgement was kinder than mine. I have spent years working to abolish slavery. I would have taken his head for such deplorable acts.” She then looked up from the map and met Lyanna Mormont’s gaze. “Luckily for both of us, I was not yet sovereign of these shores. He has served me well these past years and we both hope he can redeem himself and his name by fighting for his kin in these coming battles.”

It pleased Daenerys to see that cracks had started to form in Lyanna Mormont’s defences. Her face spoke of still not trusting Daenerys intentions or politics, but that maybe the southern queen had redeeming qualities that were worth discussing. Daenerys gave the lady another kind smile, observing that the edges of the younger woman’s mouth curved ever so slightly before they both turned and looked when the noice in the room was hushed as Jon Snow stalked in, flanked by Bran Stark, whose chair was being pushed by a man Daenerys remembered having been introduced to her as Podric Payne, and Samwell Tarly.

Jon seemed to not care that his arrival had commanded silence in the room, simply walked up to his sister’s right hand, placing a peck on the Lady of Winterfell’s cheek (Daenerys noticed that Arya Stark had come down from the rafters and was standing on Sansa Stark’s left side). Then, he lifted his gaze and met hers, and to her surprise, moved himself to stand at her side, lifting her naked hand to his lips, and before Daenerys even had the time to react, planted a kiss on the back of her hand, with a low, but clear “My Queen.”

The room exploded with gasps and whispers, but Daenerys’ eyes were glued to Jon’s. Ideally, she would have frozen this moment in time, and stayed forever. His lips still on her hand, his hand holding hers ever so gently, his eyes, when lifted to meet hers, burning fiercely, her stomach; host to a million butterflies.

The moment, and the silence, was broken by the awfully familiar sound of Lord Tyrion clearing his throat, and Daenerys tore her eyes from her beloved to see the shocked faces of northerners composing themselves a moment too late.

“The Night King marches ever closer to us with each passing moment, and we have best not be caught unprepared..” Tyrion drawled, getting ready to launch into a monologue, but unfortunately for him, there were more than one person in the present company who craved attention. “We have sent ravens to all major houses and settlements. With the exception of House Glover and House Manderly, Winterfell will soon be a very crowded castle. We will have to be generous with our space and food rations so that we may all get through this together.” Sansa Stark’s voice rang out, almost sounding sincere enough to convince Daenerys of her altruism. Almost.

The girl was a diamond in the rough still, but with some polish, she could make a fine politician, some day.   
  


Knowing there was a remark against her waiting in Sansa’s prepared words, Daenerys spoke up. “Lord Manderly has, per my instructions, joined with a host of ships protected by Unsullied Soldiers, Free folk and Dothraki to set sail for Dragonstone with his civilians. He will there meet with Marsali, a Meereenese member of my small council who acts as Castellan of Dragonstone while I’m fighting in the War for the Dawn.” Daenerys could see surprised and annoyed glares in the faces of the northern lords and ladies, as per usual, although there was some genuine confusion there too. Did they believe she had decided to take White Harbour hostage, or something? She wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.

”The reason for the absence of Deepwood Motte, however, is unknown to me.” She then added and turned a questioning face towards Lady Sansa whose cold gaze could freeze a lake in minutes. Then, a glimmer of triumph sparked in the redhead’s frosty eyes and she even had the audacity to tilt her chin upwards in superiority. “Lord Glover has decided not to join us. He claims that his loyalty lies only with the King in the North.”

Unrest and whispers shook the crowd again, and Daenerys could feel Jon, who was still by her side, holding her hand, fume. Herself, she was beginning to tire of the northern stubbornness and sense of entitlement. If it hadn’t set a dangerous precedent for the other regions, she would have cut them loose a long time ago. Yes, she might be entitled in coming here to claim their lands based on birthright, but she hadn’t conquered them, hadn’t raised her sword against a single man. Their king had bent the knee, and thus according to the law, they were supposed to obey his decision.

Exasperated, Daenerys shook her head and held up a hand to silence the room. The voices died down instantly. Good. At least the nobles present had learnt to respect her authority.

“It’s a pity the noble lord refuses to answer to his liege lady’s call. How will you punish him, my lady? I understand northern law punishes a refusal of call to arms with death.”

Sansa looked taken aback for a moment. Daenerys knew that she had clearly counted on Lord Glover’s treason to be reflected upon Daenerys fitness to rule the north, but now she had turned it back on Sansa, making it a regional, rather than national issue. Daenerys understood that the girl had had some harsh training in the political game while she was hostage to the Lannister’s in the south following Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark’s demise, and she could see that she was trying to set up the pieces to take down her enemies, in this case, Daenerys. However, sadly for her, she was playing with glass cards, and her every move was almost painfully obvious.

Sansa his her surprise underneath a mask as stern as steel, and as she took a moment to consider her words carefully, Daenerys could see the wheels turn inside the red haired lady’s head, trying out a multitude of scenarios and calculating their outcome in seconds. Such a pity they couldn’t be friends, Daenerys thought, standing together, Cersei Lannister would never have known what hit her. She still wouldn’t, of course, but Daenerys would have relished being at liberty to plot alongside her future good-sister rather than against her.

”We cannot spare the men to travel to Deepwood motte to discipline House Glover at the moment. We need every fighter we can get right here, at Winterfell, to protect the civilians against the Night King. The punishment of Lord Glover’s insolence will have to wait until the bigger fish has been fried.”

Daenerys nodded in agreement to what Sansa had said. “Aptly put, Lady Sansa. The Night King took a child from me. I look forward to cleansing the world off him with dragon fire.”

Daenerys could see the people shift uncomfortably, (or maybe triumphantly?) as she spoke of dragon fire, as if she was finally showing her true Targaryen tyrant colours that they had been expecting all along. Whatever. She was the blood of the dragon. She was tired of pretending otherwise for the sake of their sensitivities. She could hear Tyrion groan, but honestly? it was time these narrow minded northerners learned to know a true dragon. The realm might be scarred from the misrule of her father, but he had been no dragon, and she was.

”That said,” Sansa began, her gaze scanning Daenerys’ attire. Clearly she appreciated what a great political move it was, to assimilate her clothing style to the northerners, thus lessening the contrast between them, but it was also obvious Sansa hated the fact that Daenerys had thought of it. 

“With such a need for able-bodies fighting men, I am at a loss to understand why your Grace would send the White harbour army south, in addition to regiments of your Essosi forces.”

Sansa’s smile was that of a schoolgirl who thought she could bully you into submitting to her will. Daenerys had never had the pleasure of a formal education, but had received the same look from a noble’s daughter in Volantis who would then go on to suck up to Viserys, claiming Daenerys had been mean to her. Sadly, the girl had underestimated both her own father’s sycophancy and Daenerys’ brother’s racism, and all she had gained from the incident was a hand-shaped mark on her face that shone red for a week.

Daenerys was doing her best to resist the urge to give Sansa Stark’s dumb face the same treatment now.

“White Harbour’s army might be well stocked in weapons and armour, but it is lacking in competent men. Their civilian numbers, however is great, and as the Night King this far has been shown hesitant to crossing water, I deemed it safer to take refuge on Dragonstone, which is after all, an island. I am also aware of how frightening it can be to have all figures of authority speak a different language than you even if they only mean well, and that is why the White Harbour men has been sent along. For the comfort and security of the people.”

If Daenerys hadn’t been fireproof, Sansa’s glare could have burned a hole through her skull, and so, before the redhead had time to compose a reply, Daenerys continued talking, all the while keeping eye contact with Sansa, mirroring her intensity.

”Which brings us to the matter at hand. As my lady mentioned, Winterfell is about to be very crowded, and though we need every fighting man and woman we can get, the civilians are mostly sitting ducks, hoping the battlements will hold. My Lord Bran Stark informed me that the Night King is marching towards Karhold. That is on the eastern shore of the region, and if he continues to trot rather than fly, it will take him at least a fortnight from there to Winterfell. My Lady Lyanna Mormont,” she now tore her eyes from Sansa’s, softened her gaze and looked to Lady Mormont. “I know it is a lot to ask, but I was wondering if we could relocate the Northern civilians to your Bear Island. With the natural fortification of the icy sea, they would be better protected than what we can offer here at Winterfell.”

”The civilians would hide in the crypt. That is the safest place in all of Winterfell.” Sansa protested, and Daenerys merely turned her head to address her. “Is that not where you keep your dead, though?” Sansa’s mouth snapped shut as if she had burnt her tongue. At her right, Daenerys could feel Jon chuckle.

”and how does your Grace propose the civilians get to Bear Island?” Sansa challenged, but Daenerys’ answer was short and to the point. “With an Unsullied escort on land, and with Ironborn ships from the Wolf’s spear. I received a raven a few days ago from my ally Yara Greyjoy. She has reclaimed the Iron Islands from her usurper uncle.” Again, she gave her attention to Lyanna Mormont, turning her entire body to face her. “This, of course is all conditional on the hospitality of the Lady of Bear Island.”

Lyanna Mormont kept her face neutral as she considered this change in plans, then looked at Daenerys “I will need to send my men along with them to organise the stay, but if it be her Grace’s pleasure, I’d like to stay and fight the coming threat.”

Daenerys could feel Ser Jorah shift uncomfortably behind her, so she turned towards him, gestured with her hand that his opinion was welcome, and stepped sideways, leaning into Jon, so that Ser Jorah might come closer to the table. “If my liege lady will allow it, I will stand and fight for the glory of Bear Island in the Battle for the living. My lady, you are the future of Bear Island, and we cannot risk you.”   
  


Lady Mormont seemed horribly offended from her cousin’s speech, as if he was implying that she might not be a fit fighter, but as he finished talking, a chorus of aye’s could be heard behind her as several of her bannermen weighed in their agreement. “I mean not to offend you, my Lady, but if you should fall, House Mormont is lost to the ages.”

”And what of the Queen?” Lady Mormont didn’t hesitate her reply even one second. “She might be positioned better than me, on dragon back, but she will still fight. If she falls, House Targaryen is similarly lost.”   
  


A hush went through the court as everyone was thinking but no one dared utter: how that would, in their opinion, that was a rather desirable outcome. 

  
“Trust me, if there was anything I could do or say to keep our Queen out of the fight I would have done it a long time ago, but she might burn me,” 

“and I might stab you.”

Ser Jorah had probably meant it as a joke, but there was no laughing matter to be found in Lady Lyanna’s face.  
  


Suddenly Jon spoke up. His hand had held Daenerys’ as the Mormonts discussed, but now he let go so that he was free to gesture as he spoke. The absence of his warmth on her skin was felt immediately.  
  


“If I may, my Lady. While we know you to be a capable military commander, we must also look to the day after tomorrow. Aye, Queen fights. But not just because she can, but also to prove her devotion to our people. Your northern men already love you, my lady, and the small folk need a great leader to protect them through this crisis. As the Lady of Bear Island, as a capable warrior, and therefore as the toughest northern-born Lady we have standing, there is no one better suited to be entrusted with the care of the small folk.”

The silence was deafening. Somewhere outside, a wolf was howling, and men were laughing around a campfire, but in this room, the tension could be cut with a knife as Jon and Lady Lyanna eyed each other.

Finally though, it seemed like the young Lady relented. “Very well. Bear Island will stand as the last defence for the small folk. And I will defend her shores.”

Daenerys felt her shoulders drop with relief and she waited until Lady Lyanna locked eyes with her to give her a grateful nod, delighting in receiving a respectful nod back. She didn’t even bother to look for Lady Sansa’s reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note - Cenna is of course, at this moment, a free woman, having regained her freedom when Daenerys claimed the Khalassar.
> 
> Note 2 - “Wolf’s spear” is not a cannon name. It’s a needle of land stretching out of the Wolf’s wood close to Deepwood Motte. It didn’t have a name on any map I found, so I simply named it for the forest.
> 
> Is it obvious I hate s8!Sansa yet?


	12. A lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya gets something to consider

Sansa wasn’t used to get upstaged this way, and Arya could feel her practically vibrate on the spot with fury as Lyanna Mormont and the dragon queen worked out the details of the small folk convoy to Bear Island.

Her grey-brown eyes scanned the room, letting her gaze wander from face to face, learning to read their features. Her eyes eventually landed on the dragon queen. Here was a person Arya had resolved to hate. All these years on the run and all she wanted was her family back. And to be strong. Strong enough to protect them from all their enemies.

But when she finally had made it home, her favourite brother seemed lost to her. Arya so longed for normalcy, even if there were gaping holes in their family. She wanted Jon to muss up her hair, she wanted Bran to climb walls and lament not being an immediate master at archery, she even missed listening to Sansa’s never ending poetic waxing on about heroes, and nights and beautiful maidens. But nothing was the same. Bran, even if he had the use of his legs, simply wasn’t present in his own skin. It was as if someone had stolen his face, but left it vacant. Sansa was too caught up in her games to allow herself a moments’ rest, and Jon.... Jon only cared about the dragon queen.

Arya’s mind was torn. Sansa had been adamant from the moment she learned that Jon had given up his crown that Daenerys Targaryen was an evil tyrant, coming here solely to ruin the peace their family had finally carved out for themselves. She had no idea. Arya wanted to make sure would be far far away once Jon revealed his plans for matrimony.

The dragon queen herself though, didn’t seem to her immediately like an evil seductress. Her temper seemed like a kind, yet steel-willed, leader for a very diverse army. Of course, Arya of all people knew how one can hide one’s true self behind an assumed face or emotional mask.

”What of the blue dragon?”

Thormund Giantsbane, the giant of a wildling Jon had befriended beyond the wall, was suddenly speaking up. In the corner of her eye, Arya could see a flicker of pain shoot through the dragon queen before she steeled herself again. The flicker was so minute, most of the nobles probably didn’t notice it, but picking up tiny traits like this was what made Arya able to steal their faces and identities. Jon had said the dragon queen considered the dragons her children. What did that say about her, Arya wondered.

Thormund was, of course, not a true giant. The last giant had fallen only weeks before she came home. His name had been Wun-wun and he had fallen while fighting for them to get their home back. Arya mourned never being able to meet such a spectacular creature, and she had long since decided to honour him for the rest of her life for the service he had done her family. With this decision had come a new list. One she would repeat every morning:

Wun-wun the Giant

Syrio Forel

Yoren

Lady Crane

_Valar Dohaeris_

”We will fight him ourselves on dragon back.” Daenerys’ reply to Thormund rang out, bringing Arya back to the table. Somewhere down the table on Arya’s right, Tyrion Lannister shifted and spoke. “ _We_ , your Grace? What do you mean by this?” 

Daenerys gave a small smile and explained. “My dragon Rhaegal has accepted Lord Jon Snow as his rider. Together they will join me in facing the Night King in battle in the sky.”

Daenerys announcement rippled through the crowd like an earthquake. Arya admitted to herself that she would have reacted similarly if she hadn’t sat next to Jon on Rhaegal’s wing as he told her himself the very night before. 

Next to her, Sansa’s political mind shifted into high-gear as she started considering what this could mean. Arya looked up at her taller sister. Her entire childhood she had secretly wished from acceptance from her older sister. Later she had given up and instead sought to distance herself from Sansa and everything she stood for as much as possible. Then father had lost his head, and mother and Robb had been killed, and they had all been separated for years, and all she could wish for was to be back with her family. Now she felt like there was an easy relationship between them. She didn’t really know Sansa any more, but at the least, she felt she could trust her now, for the first time in her life. And yet, when it came to matters of the northern throne, Sansa seemed completely ruthless. And that frightened Arya.

She wasn't frightened in the way most people considered the word. Arya didn't fear for her safety in her sister's company. She was a capable fighter, and if need be, she could become No one, and escape. But she did fear for Sansa's own safety. She feared that her sister's faith in her own cunning might become her undoing, and she feared that her schemes might damage the relationship of their already shrunk, and still uneasy, family.

"How is this possible? I thought only Targaryens were capable of bonding with dragons?" Tyrion sputtered. Arya saw the dragon queen hesitate for a moment, casting a look at Jon as if wanting to know his opinion. Interesting. Jon, however, did not flinch, and without returning the look, spoke up while staring Tyrion Lannister down.  
"We are not certain ourselves. Of course, we know my father, Ned Stark, had no Valyrian blood in his veins, but no one knows the identity, and thus, the ancestry, of my mother. For all we know, she might be Volantene, or connected to Valyrian blood in some different way."

He was lying. Jon was lying. Even though they'd been separated for years, Arya knew her brother well enough to recognise it when he wasn't telling the truth. And if his own body language wasn't speaking clearly enough, the way the dragon queen relaxed her shoulders as he spoke, spoke volumes. Arya cast a glance sideways and up, wondering if Sansa had picked up on his lie. She had never known Jon well when they were young, and thus Arya wasn't sure if she would be able to read the lie off him. There was no doubt about her ability to read the Targaryen woman, however.

The rest of the meeting went by with little drama. The ground outside the Winterfell walls was frozen, making it difficult to dig trenches, so it was decided that the dragon queens dragons would blast the ground with dragon fire to help it thaw, but they would have to be careful so they didn't melt the ground into glass. The pits would be filled with coals, tar, and kindling, turning them into fire traps that could be used to slow down the Night King's armies.

Only when the subject of the charge was brought up, did sparks again start to fly between the dragon queen and the lady of the Winterfell.

"So, let me see if I've understood this correctly. My Dothraki warriors are to meet the Army of the Dead on the fields outside the castle. My Unsullied soldiers are then to defend the castle as a living shield wall. The Northern forces are to wait inside the walls as the last defence, and fight the Army of the Dead after it has hacked its way through all of my forces?"

"The Dothraki are world-famous for their cavalry. Near unbeatable on the open field, it would be foolish to contain their greatest asset within castle walls. The only force known to be able to beat back the Dothraki is the unity of the Unsullied shield wall. Am I wrong in this assessment, your Grace?" Sansa's voice was dripping so sweet with honey and innocence, Arya felt like gagging, even if she knew she was right.

"Oh, I'm not questioning their abilities." The dragon queen replied quickly. "I'm questioning why only foreign-born warriors are risking their lives on the front line, whilst great, northern, noble warriors are made to hide inside castle walls."

"Are you not here to protect your realm, your Grace?"

"I am. Which is why I am personally joining the fight. And I pledged my armies as aid to the northern forces. I did not pledge them as cannon fodder."

Sansa smiled sweetly. "Are you saying you will not do whatever it takes to protect your people?"

Everyone still awake collectively sucked in their breath. To the dragon queen's right, Jon's glare was burning holes in Sansa's skull. "Sansa..:" he started. His voice a low grumble, his tone a warning.

The dragon queen had stood leant forward with both hands planted firmly on the table throughout this conversation, having used her hands to follow tactical plans as they were being pointed out on the map. She was, by her own admission, not experienced in tactical battle and formations, and had eagerly, no, passionately followed the advice and discussions between Jon, Jamie and Tyrion Lannister, Brienne of Tarth, Tormund Giantsbane, the Unsullied general named Grey Worm, The Dothraki man who needed a Tyroshi translater to make his communications and various other northern lords who dared pipe up every now and then. There was no lack of experience and opinions gathered around their table. In contrast to the dragon queen, Sansa had stood straight and dignified, with only her eyes flitting back and forth, following the plans and formations as they were being drawn up.

The Tyroshi translator's accent reminded Arya of Jaqen H'ghar. She caught herself drifting in thoughts wondering where in the world he might be now, and how many people had worn his face since they parted ways outside Harrenhall.

While Jon's growl was like a snarling wolf, Daenerys Targaryen let her head fall between her shoulders for a moment. Sansa smiled triumphantly. The Targaryen woman drew air, then breathed out slowly, as if to calm herself down. With all Arya had read about Targaryens thinking themselves dragons in human form, she wouldn't have been surprised if fire had come out the dragon queen's mouth as she breathed out. Then she straightened herself up. Her hands left the table and were neatly folded in front of her. Arya heard the rustle of silver bells as the dragon queen cocked her head to the side and smiled innocently, yet determined back at Sansa.

"That is exactly it, Lady Sansa. I am here to protect my people. _All of my people_."

"That is reassuring to know, your Grace," Sansa said with a knowing smile. It was clear she didn't really consider the Essossi forces, that were there to give them aid, as people. Arya wasn't sure if she cared whether they were people or not, as long as her family was still alive at the end of the day. They had been kept apart far too long to be separated now.

Another hour of discussion and reassignment of the divisions followed until all parties were satisfied with the diversity of each wave. The Dothraki warrior had at first growled something that the Tyroshi woman interpreted as not wanting to share the glory and honour of the battlefield with others who had served their Khaleesi for a shorter time then they had. Arya wasn't sure if he meant it or not, but if it was a ruse, Lord Royce and Lord Norrey both swallowed the bait, hook, line and sinker, demanding that when it came to the protection of their homeland, they would _not_ lose any honour by a foreigner. To her left, Arya felt Sansa heavily resist the urge to utilise her entire body in an eye-roll at how easily the Westerosi lords had let themselves be fooled.

* * *

When the meeting finally concluded, Arya was eager to escape the crunch of bodies, and enjoy the peace of a northern winter night. As soon as they were dismissed by the dragon queen, she disappeared before any of her siblings had the time to notice and wove in between the mass of people until she was free outside the great doors. Her feet moved automatically, and soon she was walking among the snow-capped fir trees of the Godswood.

"Lady Arya?"

Arya spun on the spot, her hand reflexively on the hilt of her rapier, and her eyes narrowing in on her target. The dragon queen was sitting on her own on a bench carved from ironwood. Arya recognised it as Lady Lyarra's seat: a token of love from her grandfather when he married her grandmother. In a futile effort to educate her daughter to be proper, her mother had made her memorise all the monuments to their ancestors scattered in and around Winterfell.

"Yes, your Grace." She replied curtly and allowed herself back at ease.

The dragon queen sat quietly, just looking at her, probably reading her, judging her. It didn't really matter. Once, the opinion of a high ranking lady would have bothered Arya, but now she didn't really care. "Are you alone, your Grace?" She asked, then, as she realised that might be interpreted as a threat, added: "What are you doing here?"

The dragon queen smiled, closed her eyes and leaned her head back. If Arya wanted, she could slit her throat before she even had time to react. Yet she remained in her spot, her arms behind her back. "After such an intense discussion I felt the need to clear my head," the dragon queen sighed. "I have never known silence like in these woods. It really is extraordinary."

Arya blinked.

"You really are lucky to have grown up in such a splendid home, my lady."

Reflexively, Arya flinched, and "I'm not a lady." escaped her lips without her realising.

The dragon queen cocked her head again, this time curiously, and the same rustle of silver bells chimed among the trees. "What do you mean? You are Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark's trueborn daughter, are you not? Does that not make you a lady?"

Arya stood rooted, her voice calm. “I was quite young when I realised I could never be a lady like my sister and my mother, and like you, your Grace. I don’t possess the grace, the temper or the skill in crafts such as needlework to be considered ladylike, and so, I simply stopped trying. There’s no point in forcing something that won’t come naturally.”

The dragon queen listened quietly and politely as Arya spoke. Once, Arya had to admit, around the time she was maybe 6 or 7, her mother had given her a beautiful grey dress with ruffles and embroidery of dire wolves and winter roses. She had felt right pretty in the dress and danced happily by herself, picking wildflowers for her father on the meadow. That was, until she had ran into Sansa and her friends, who had bullied her and called her Arya horse-face, and pointed out that while playing in the forest, she had dirtied and torn her new dress. Later that evening, her mother had done her best to mend the dress, and her father had lovingly put the flowers in a vase. That had been the last time Arya had tried to be lady-like. Sansa had made it abundantly clear that she would never be able to do it, so what was even the point in trying?

Later she had also developed an interest in sword fight and other activities meant for boys. It had only solidified her resolve to be the polar opposite of a lady.

“Being the wife of a lord and spending my whole life embroidering and raising his children. That’s just not me,” she added.

The dragon queen was looking her with the same quizzical expression you’d see in a puppy when they were confused. She was still, her face void of judgement and she was looking at Arya with her head cocked to the side.

“Can you not be a wife, a mother and a warrior?” She asked at last.

Arya bit her lip. When she was young she had admired Queen Visenya and Rhaenyra Targaryen for being fierce warriors who stood by their right, and they had both been mothers...

“The way I see it, Lady Arya,” the dragon queen moved herself to the side of the bench so that there was space for Arya, and patted a hand gently on the vacant spot to indicate that she wished for her to sit with her. “We are who we are based on how we’re born, but no one but ourselves have any say in how we fulfill our roles. I was born Princess of Dragonstone, but that didn’t keep me from adopting my husband’s culture, so far from our own Westerosi one, when I became a Khaleesi of the Dothraki. Similarly, when he died, I, as his widow, was supposed to humbly join the Dosh Khaleen and live in an old crone’s hut with other widowed Khaleesi. However, I went my own way. I claimed his Khalassar for my own, I hatched my dragons on his funeral pyre, I amassed an army of my own, and I went on to abolish slavery in the Bay of Dragons. Then, when the other Khals tried to force me to give up this life and this freedom I had carved out for myself and follow their demands, I burned them alive and took their Khalassar for my own.”

While she was speaking, Arya had silently taken the seat the dragon queen offered and was looking at her while she spoke calmly about her violent conquests.

“The point is, Lady Arya Stark, She-Wolf of Winterfell, I will always be a lady, but that will never stop me from working in the dirt with my subjects, or being ruthless against my enemies, if need be.” Arya’s conflicting feelings about the dragon queen was like a whirlwind inside her. She was an unknown factor in Arya’s life whom she hadn’t identified as a threat or a potential ally yet, and she also seemed to be a living embodiment of all of Arya’s childhood heroines. Part of her wanted to like her. Part of her reminded herself that she was not supposed to.

Daenerys Targaryen, lady and warrior, smiled gently as a breeze blew through the woods making the bells in her hair chime again, “I am a lady on my own terms, and so should you be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be called “ladies” and encompass Daenerys’ talk with Sansa as well, contrasting the two sisters.... but I’m impatient, so I’m publishing Arya’s part alone.
> 
> Next up, Sansa and Daenerys


	13. What about the North?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and Sansa discuss the upcoming battle and the future of the North.

Arya was staring silently at her for a while, before the younger woman nodded. “I will never be one of those docile women who only live for her husband’s merits.”

”God’s no!” Daenerys allowed herself to smile and chuckle. “If my wish comes true, you’ll be a fierce lady, commander of your own keep and life, and maybe you will have a husband to keep you company.”

Arya Stark was smiling too, at first, but then at Daenerys’ mention of a husband her smile faded. “Is that what you intend Jon to be? Merely your companion?”

Daenerys sucked in her breath as a million butterflies took flight in her stomach. With everything Bran had told them the night before, she had completely forgotten about the proposal. What Bran had told them...... she wasn’t barren! She might even be able to bear children for Jon! Tears of joy welled in her eyes and she found herself unable to contain them. As one tear rolled down her cheek, her face broke into a smile. Oh dear, poor lady Arya must think she’s gone insane.

”He told you?”

Arya nodded.

”And what do you think of our union? I’m asking both as his sister, and as a lady of Westeros.”

”That depends entirely on how you answer my question. Your Grace, are you ok?”   
  


With a smile, Daenerys nodded quickly, making the bells in her hair ring out loud, and wiped her face. “Yes! Yes, Lady Arya, I am fine. To tell the truth, when I first came here to the North, I was afraid Jon’s feelings for me had chilled. But he asked me to be his wife, and he had told his dearest sister about it instead of hiding it like it was a shameful thing , and, I know I sound like a silly girl now, but it just makes me so happy to know that you know.”

Lady Arya looked like she wanted to escape into the nearest tree or run away and leave the crazy love struck queen to herself, but she remained rooted, nodding wide eyed to the violent display of emotions before her. “You still haven’t answered the question, though.” She said quietly yet firmly. Daenerys looked at her and composed herself, running a hand over her head to smooth down any stray hairs that might have popped out of her braids.

”You’re right, I haven’t.” She said, sitting up straight. What had happened? How had she lost all composure so quickly? She decided not to think about it and move on. “When we are wed, I expect Jon to come to Dragonstone with me. I have duties to rule the seven kingdoms, and Dragonstone has been the monarch’s family home for centuries. He didn’t seem to enjoy being King in the North, but I am hoping he will be King of the seven kingdoms for me. Frankly, the two of us haven’t really discussed the finer details of it, but I wish for us to rule together, as equals.”

Lady Arya seemed amazed. “You’ll give up half your power for him?”

”I don’t see it as giving up power, but as getting an ally to strengthen me in my duty. In a way, I feel like I would be more powerful with him than without him.” Daenerys gave a small smile. Her mind, even though she tried to focus on Lady Arya, was still on the potential family she could have, on feeling a babe stir inside her again like she never dreamt she’d be able to.   
  


She had been ruling alone for so long. Drogo has loved her, but he had never considered her his equal. She found herself yearning for a partnership with Jon, where they could make decisions together and have each other’s backs indefinitely.

Lady Arya seemed a bit lost in thought. It occurred to Daenerys that the girl had been raised in a world of absolutes. You were either a lady: soft, helpless, docile, courteous, and good at artisanal crafts, or a Lord: strong, in charge, good at fighting and expected to make decisions. As her future good-sister, and as her Queen, Daenerys decided to take a vow to create a realm where girls like Arya could thrive with agency of their own. The only one close to this was the magnificent Lady Brienne of Tarth, and she had been forced to suffer ridicule her entire life. _No more_ , Daenerys decided then and there, _my reign will not waste good fighters like that simply because they have tits._

”I’m sorry, your Grace, I’m starting to get cold and need to get inside.” Arya Stark had stood up but not moved away. Daenerys smiled and nodded her consent, and as soon as she was dismissed, Arya turned on her heel and started walking away. After ten feet though, she stopped and half turned towards Daenerys. “Thank you for your words, your Grace. You’ve given me a lot to think about.” And then she rounded a tree and was gone before Daenerys could answer.

* * *

When she returned to her room in the keep, Jon was already sitting by the fire, waiting for her. As soon as the door closed behind her he was at her side “I had a need to see you, but if you need more time, just say the word and I’ll leave.” His voice was more breath than speech, and as Daenerys smiled and gently shook her head, locking eyes with him, he snaked his arms around her waist, pulled her close and slammed his lips onto hers, kissing her hungrily.

Although tired, Daenerys responded in kind, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him closer, weaving her fingers into his hair, standing on tiptoe to match his height, then holding on for dear life as he almost tipped her backwards in his greedy pursuit to kiss her harder.

”So I didn’t dream it last night?” She gasped against his cheek as he started kissing down her jawline and towards her neck. “You really do want to be with me, even though we are kin, even though it means you’ll be king again?“ His lips were at her collarbone when he predictably froze, and it was torture for Daenerys when he withdrew and straightened up to look at her again.

”I...” he started, and Daenerys prepared for her heart to shatter as he rejected her. “You don’t want me simply as consort?” Daenerys’ answer was a quickly shaken head while she held her breath. Her heart was beating like a war drum. “You want me to rule beside you?” He finally asked.

”As equals,” she quickly added. “As partners.”

Jon seemed conflicted. “But you’ve worked so hard for your throne. Why would you give that up?”

A small smile spread on Daenerys’ face. He and Arya had been raised by the same family after all, of course they would think alike.

”I wouldn’t give it up. Having a loving, just, honourable partner would make my decisions stronger, the burden of the crown easier to bear. If you want it, of course..”

”Am I, though? Honourable? Dany, I’m still officially a bastard...”

”But we could change that!” She said enthusiastically. “As soon as our reign is secure, we could announce the truth of your parents, all three of them, or if you want to keep your Targaryen ancestry hidden, as Queen I could legitimise you as a Stark, and Ned Stark would still be your official father. Jon, sweetling, the northerners chose you as their king because you’re an excellent leader, and they would do so again. I’ve seen how they look at you. They didn’t simply choose you for your family’s name, but for who you are and the choices you’ve made, standing with them on the battlefield. You are one of the most honourable men I have ever been so fortunate to meet.... and fall in love with!”

If it had been physically possible for eyes to take the shape of hearts, that would be the look Jon was giving Daenerys this moment. Gently, he leant her forehead against hers and swallowed a would-be tear. “Ok then,” he whispered. “Aye, I’ll be your King. As co-regent.”

Mirroring his gentleness, Daenerys cuddled into his arms. “You know, you surprised me a little,” she murmured.

“Oh really, how?”

“When Tyrion asked why Rhaegal chose you, you lied. You could have spoken the truth and had your bastard status erased in a moment, why didn’t you do it? According to blood rights, you could have announced your claim to the throne then and there, and you, and you alone, would have been King. Not just of the North, but of the whole of Westeros. What stopped you?.”

She could feel him tense at the almost-accusation, but wrapped her arms around his waist, held him tight and continued speaking before he had the time to think the worst of her.

“All my life, I’ve had to keep an eye out for danger, and for people who might betray me. You had every opportunity to claim my throne and steal everything I’ve worked for, and you have made the choice not to. Not many people would have given up what you did, and that tells me I can trust you, that it is safe to lay my love on you, and that Jon, that is a very powerful gift you’ve given me.”

The tension in Jon’s shoulders eased up and then hardened again. “I hate being reminded of your shit past, Dany,” he growled into her hair. “But it is where your experiences come from and that’s one of the reasons you’re so strong today. You deserve so much better, and I swear I will make it my life’s mission to give it to you.”

Daenerys chocked back a tear and nodded, burying her face in his neck. “As will I, for you,” she whispered.

A beat passed between them. Daenerys could feel Jon tense every now and then, as if he was on the verge of saying something, but always backing away at the last moment. She decided to wait for him to be ready, rather than pulling it out of him. If they were going to rule together, she would need him to be able to talk to to her freely, no matter the subject.

“I am...” he finally started. “I don’t like... keeping secrets from my siblings, or, my cousins.”

“Your _siblings_ ” She insisted, nuzzling into his neck. “You grew up together, raised by the same parents. You have the sibling bond, and no matter what the truth of the past might be, that will never change.” Her thoughts, full of regret, went to Viserys for a moment. They had also been loving siblings for many years, until the weight, and the pressure, of the crown he was not allowed to bear had broken him.

Jon nodded, seemingly at ease from being allowed to keep defining his family on his own terms rather than technicalities. “I wish I could tell them everything. Keeping secrets feels like lying, and after everything this family has been through, so far apart, I am afraid lies and half-truths might drive an even deeper wedge between us. Especially Sansa.”

Daenerys was quiet for a bit. She could relate to craving the approval of a sibling who didn’t deserve your kindness.

“When we were growing up, she was her mother’s daughter, and Catelyn Stark was too proud to ever let me in. I knew she wanted to forgive me, for my bastard status. For being a constant reminder of father’s supposed infidelity. But she couldn’t. And while I think she was conscious of this, Sansa never was. Then, when we finally met again, she didn’t hesitate. She was repentant of how she treated me as kids. I thought she was finally ready to treat me as her _brother_. But ever since we retook Winterfell... every now and then, there’s this glimmer, this chink in the armour, and it makes me afraid, or sad, because it looks like the old Sansa, the one who could never accept me as a Stark... that she is still in there, and that all her kind words and declarations of love and loyalty are just... lies.”

He fell silent for a beat. Drew a breath. Daenerys came out from the crook of his neck and faced him, her eyes glittering with tears of empathy, knowing exactly how he felt because she had felt the same way about Viserys a million times before.

“And so, I guess, at least I want to make sure I’m honest, you know? But I don’t feel like this is something I can be honest about. Not to her. It destroys me that I can’t trust her enough to be honest about this.”

“I think I understand.” Daenerys whispered, her eyes had been glued to his to show him that he had her full attention, but now they were downcast. It truly was the most heart shattering feeling to come to terms with no longer being able to trust someone you loved. “What exactly is it you’re afraid she’d do if she knew?”

Daenerys knew what she, herself, feared. The Lady of Winterfell seemed to be a merciless foe to those whose wishes did not align with her own. From what Tyrion had told her, the Red Wolf of Winterfell had been lying in wait with her fangs hidden under the hostage and tutelage of Cersei Lannister for years, and he had praised her for being able to play the game and fool the court by hiding her true intentions and feelings. Well, however good she _had_ been at masking her intentions behind a layer of grace and politeness, those were skills she must have decided to be obsolete by now, because Daenerys could read the stupid girl like an open book. And what Sansa Stark wanted was for Daenerys and Jon both to get out of her way and leave her as sole sovereign of the North, if not the entire Seven Kingdoms.

* * *

They had moved on from holding each other to soft kissing, to hungrier kissing, and then eventually the bed. As they lied there, bathed in afterglow, a gentle knock sounded from the door. 

“Who is it?” Daenerys called out.

A servant girl responded. “Your Grace, Lady Sansa is in the library, she requests an audience.”

Daenerys blinked. Jon groaned.

“Tell Lady Sansa I’ll see her tomorrow.” Daenerys answered as kindly as she could. The servant girl was not to blame for the entitlement if the Lady of Winterfell.

“I... I think the Lady was expecting to see you now, Your Grace.”

“Would you please remind my sister that the Queen of the seven kingdoms is not hers to summon at a whim? Now, kindly leave us.”

Daenerys’ eyes were wide with surprise as Jon, who had sat up abruptly when he spoke out, leant back again. A giggle escaped her as the sounds of the servant girl’s feet disappeared down the corridor, and she nuzzled her face into his neck, settling there for the night, perfectly content.

* * *

The next morning, Jon was out of bed before Daenerys eyes had even considered opening, announcing that he was going to train with the men in the yard.

”Don’t forget the women,” Daenerys yawned “If there are any women who are planning on staying behind to fight, you should make sure they are up to your standards before trusting them with your back.”

”Aye, that is true,” Jon nodded and headed for the door, only for Daenerys to playfully slap his ass as he passed her. Without stopping, he turned around and walked backwards, blowing a kiss her way, before he twirled around and exited the room.   
  


Daenerys giggled and felt the crush bubble through her body, before she made a content sigh and made to get ready for the day. A gaggle of northern servant girls, who were apparently masters at knowing just the right moment to appear, came into the room wit hot water for washing, fresh towels, and other instruments a Lady would require to face the day.

Once again, Daenerys donned her northern dress, and with a servant girl’s help shaped her hair into a simple, yet elegant, side braid. All her silver bells she took care to gather into a small leather pouch so that she could bring them all back where they belonged. Then, once ready, she thanked the servant girls, dismissed them, and started making her way out of the keep, commenting to the girl who had helped her with her hair that she would wait for the Lady of Winterfell in her tent.

On her way, she passed through the courtyard, and slowed her pace so that she could properly watch Jon and his men train. But they weren’t alone. Present was also Lady Brienne of Tarth, knocking her squire on his Westerland butt with ease, and Lady Arya, squinting disapprovingly at some northern lordlings.

Suddenly, she felt a presence on her right side, and looked to see that Ghost, Jon’s dire wolf had joined her. She looked up, found Jon in the fray and tilted her head in a silent question. He seemed equally as surprised as her, but shrugged his shoulders with consent. Apparently, Ghost was allowed to do pretty much as he pleased, and what seemed to please him right now was soundlessly padding alongside Daenerys as she left the courtyard and headed for her tent.

“I guess that means you’re ok with me and Jon, huh boy?” Daenerys said and patted Ghost on the back. Ghost simply stared at her, his mouth wide, his younger hanging out as he walked beside her. She decided to interpret that as a smile and agreement, and smiled back.

She didn’t have to wait long. About half an hour after Daenerys sat down by the table in her yurt, the tent flap was pushed aside and a Dothraki warrior named Varan was showing Sansa Stark inside.

 _“Sansa Stark, Khaleesi. She says she is here to meet you,”_ he said in Dothraki, standing as a living wall between the Lady of Winterfell and his Khaleesi. When Daenerys wordlessly nodded her consent, however, he pounded his fist on his chest in a small bow, and removed himself from the tent, leaving Sansa Stark standing there alone, staring very unsubtle daggers at her Queen.

“My Lady! So pleased to see you, please do be seated. I trust you slept well?” Daenerys said, flashing a welcoming smile.

Lady Stark deigned to put on a tight smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t, your Grace. I am afraid the upcoming horrors are affecting my abilities to relax, but maybe your Grace is not fazed by the prospect of the slaughter of thousands?”

Lady Sansa came to a stop behind the high-backed chair opposite Daenerys, putting her hands on the back of the chair to stare her down.

Daenerys closed her mouth but kept smiling as if she saw nothing wrong with the redhead’s statement. “I have lived on the frontline for years now, my Lady. If I let the prospect of violence take away my night’s sleep, I’d never get a moment’s rest. I’ve had to learn to find peace in the moment between the battles, and not let the possible horrors of the day after tomorrow too greatly affect my ability to enjoy today.”

Sansa Stark smiled like a spider who eagerly watched a juicy moth fly towards her trap, rounded the chair, and sat down by the small round table.

They sat in silence for a while, just looking at each other. Daenerys was certain it was some kind of power play, and did not intend to lose, although, she wasn’t sure if she saw the point of it, considering there was no one in the tent besides themselves and Ghost to show off for.

As if he had heard her thoughts, the great beast yawned soundlessly and stretched his large fluffy body. Until now he had been hidden behind the table, but now that he moved, Daenerys took delight in seeing Sansa’s surprise in the fact that the dire wolf had seemingly accepted the queen.

“Oh, so you’re awake, sweet boy? Didn’t want to miss out on the conversation, hmm?” Daenerys had barely spent time with Ghost at all since Jon had introduced them in passing right after they came to Winterfell. However, she expected him to be much like her own dragons; he had accepted her, and showing hesitance now would just be silly. Therefore, she confidently placed her hand between his shoulder blades and gave him a good scratching. Ghost leaned into the scratches for a while, then yawned again and laid back down. Daenerys giggled. “Ok, maybe not.” Now genuinely smiling, she looked from Ghost to Lady Sansa. “So, Lady Sansa, you had something you wished to discuss?”

Lady Sansa made a thin-lipped, closed-mouthed smile and pulled two scrolls out of her sleeve. “Lord Ryswell and Lady Dustin regrets time inform me that due to the recent change of authority at the Winterfell court they do not feel welcome to stand by our side in the battle against the dead, and that the Queen may find their forces waiting for her at the Rills and in the Barrowlands respectively.”

Daenerys closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and a moment to herself. “That’s a pity.” She finally commented. “The new Warden of the North will have their hands full once the war for the living is won.

She could feel her future good-sister twitch on the other side of the table, but didn’t make any show of commenting it.

“Excuse me, your Grace. The _new_ warden?”

Daenerys blinked, confused. “He didn’t tell you? Lady Arya told me he’d told her, so I assumed.. my apologies, my Lady. Yes, a new warden. Your brother has asked me to be his wife, and as the King of the Seven Kingdoms he can’t very well leave his beloved North without a warden, now, can he?”

Lady Sansa’s smile has tightened so hard it could practically be used to foster diamonds, and Daenerys suspected it was to keep her jaw from falling to the floor.

“My, what happy news.” She finally purred, “pray tell, when was this decided?”

Daenerys leant back, her eyes pointing skyward trying to get a firm hold on the events of the past few days. So many things had happened in so little time! “That would be.... the night before last.” She then looked at Lady Sansa again, smiling. “Our families have a complicated past, but I am looking forward to the happy union of our houses.”

Lady Sansa let out a short chuckle, which actually seemed genuine. Daenerys wasn’t sure how she’d like to interpret it, so she ignored it and smiled politely. “Yes, the shared history of our two houses is a sad thing to have in common.” Lady Sansa then replied, smiling innocently. At least this showed she was learning. Daenerys considered this smile to be much more convincing than the ones she had seen thus far.

“We have other things in common,” Daenerys decided to reply, ignoring the thinly veiled insult from the other woman and focusing on trying to mend this relationship. After all, annoying as she was, Lady Sansa was important to Jon and she would do her best for them to get along. “We've both known what it means to lead people who aren't inclined to accept a woman's rule. And we've both done a damn good job of it, from what I can tell.”

A bald faced lie, but Lady Sansa continued to smile so Daenerys continued.

“And yet, I can't help but feel we're at odds with one another. Why is that? Your brother. Does our relationship bother you?”

Lady Sansa didn’t flinch, but deflected from Daenerys questioning. “Men do stupid things for women. They're easily manipulated.”

Daenerys smiled patiently. “All my life, I've known one goal: the Iron Throne. Taking it back from the people who destroyed my family, and almost destroyed yours. My war was against them. Until I met Jon. Now I'm here, half a world away, fighting Jon's war alongside him. Tell me, who manipulated whom?”

Lady Sansa scoffed, then leaned forward and placed her hand on Daenerys’ hand. “I should have thanked you the moment you arrived. That was a mistake.”

Optimistic, Daenerys smiled and placed her other hand atop Lady Sansa’s. “I am here because I love your brother and I trust him, and I know he's true to his word. He's only the second man in my life I can say that about.”

“Who was the first?”

“My first husband.”

“What happened to him?”

“He was cursed by a witch and fell ill.”

“Dear me, how horrible.”

Daenerys cocked an eyebrow. Lady Sansa’s acting was getting better. Was she finally showing how she had managed to survive the Lannister court after her father’s fall?

“It was, yes. But don’t worry, I have learnt my lesson. I will not be letting Jon within arrow shot of any witches.”

“I suppose you got your revenge on her eventually?” Lady Sansa was digging for gold, and Daenerys could see the excitement for being near payoff glinting in the red Wolf’s eyes.

“I did.” Daenerys smiled. This was a story she wanted to tell the realm sooner or later anyway. “I told my people that anyone who harmed them would die screaming. And she did.”

Lady Sansa looked horrified. Or rather, she looked like she tried to appear horrified. Deep down, Daenerys suspected, when it came to the fate of a foreign woman, the Red Wolf didn’t really care in the slightest.

A moment of silence followed before Lady Sansa spoke again. “And what happens afterwards? We defeat the dead, we destroy Cersei. What happens then?”

Daenerys blinked and spoke matter of factly. “I take the Iron Throne.”

“What about the North? It was taken from us, and we took it back. And we said we'd never bow to anyone else again. What about the North?”

Daenerys tried to breathe calmly even though she could feel the anger rise inside her. The best option now would seem to be to feign ignorance and let the red-headed woman reveal her true plans. "I am afraid I don't follow, my Lady. What about the North?"

Lady Sansa shifted impatiently, like a dog who has been shown a treat they may not yet have. Or, not a dog, rather, a wolf?

"The North has lost more than any other region under the misrule of southern tyrants. Once we finally reclaimed it, we chose our own King and swore independence from the Southern Kingdoms. We won't go back to bending the knee to someone who doesn't know or understand our ways."

Daenerys leant back in her chair, genuinely shocked at the audacity of the woman before her. "Well... Lady Sansa, it is a disappointment to hear you feel this way. But I am afraid I have to correct you on a few things. I may not know exactly how much each kingdom has lost in terms of resources, and not having known any of the soldiers myself, I can't speak of the personal losses. But one thing I do know, Lady Sansa, and that is that I, as rightful Queen of the Seven kingdoms, pledged my armies to aid the chosen King in the North in his fight against the forces of death, whereupon he bent the knee and gave the northern crown into my possession."' In the course of her speaking, she had sat up bolt straight, making certain Lady Sansa had no chance to misunderstand her meaning. "And so, Lady Sansa, there is no "going back to bending the knee" to speak of. The knee is already bent, by your King." Her voice was empty of emotion now, her face a mask of stone.

On the other side of the table, Lady Sansa's face was much the same. "So it is settled then? The Starks will go back to being Wardens of the North." Lady Sansa's voice was trembling with barely concealed emotion.

Seeing her point having been driven home, Daenerys allowed herself to rest the steel in her spine and lean back again. "Oh, heavens no. I will make the same pledge to the people of the Seven Kingdoms as I have my Essosi subjects. I will do whatever I can to ensure them fair and wise government, and that does not necessarily mean doing what has always been done before."

Lady Sansa's face was completely void of emotion, making it obvious that she felt very strongly about this and was making her best efforts to hide it. "You'll have to excuse me, Your Grace, I have some matters to tend to." She said and stood up.

Daenerys, though knowing she technically had the upper hand and could demand Lady Sansa stay and squirm in her seat, had grown tired of the other woman's company and simply nodded a response. Lady Sansa turned on her heel and had stalked out of the room before Daenerys had time to form another thought. Just as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun little piece of irony: my phone autocorrects “Viserys” to “abusers”.


	14. She-Wolf

Arya had woken that morning feeling fresh like a frozen spring creek. What the Dragon Queen had told her the evening before wasn't complete news. Lady Mormont's mother and Lady Dustin to mention some had commanded their own regions without any pressure to remarry for decades, and in Dorne it was customary that a daughter would inherit on the same line as a son. Yet, the prospect of being Lady had always seemed to her as a role incompatible with her personality. She could remember, shortly after coming to King's Landing she had asked her father if she could be a Lord of a holdfast like her brothers and he had replied that she would be the wife of a Lord, rule his castle and give him sons to be princes, lords and knights.

That wasn't her. Since childhood, seeing the difference between her sister and herself she had given up on being a proper lady like her mother. She would never be able to stay true to herself and also stay subservient to a husband without having any freedom for herself. After her father had died, she had been on the run, however, though the circumstances that lead her there were horrible and she would do anything to undo them, she had relished being able to travel and see the world.

And today was a new day.

The Dragon Queen reigned now, and she didn't seem to be the kind of person who stuck to traditions without reviewing them first. Daenerys and Jon would take the throne together. Was there perhaps such a man out there for Arya too?

It was a completely new concept to consider. Having disregarded marriage at a young age, Arya hadn't thought a life of romantic love was on the cards for her, her goal had been to return to her family. But.. on some dark nights, watching the night life of Braavos, she had wondered what it would be on a lover's arm, talking about pretty things like stars and flowers and unyielding devotion.

With her head in the daydream, Arya smiled and crushed her pillow in a tight hug. Then, the sound of a wolf howling abruptly pulled her back into reality. It was a strong howl, not the likes of an ordinary wolf. It was the sound one might have expected from Ghost, if he ever made a sound.

Arya sat bolt upright in her bed. There was something familiar about that howl. But the sound didn't come again. She ran to the window and scanned the countryside, but there was nothing. The wolf had to be deep in the Wolf's wood.

* * *

An hour later she was in the courtyard. 

Lady Brienne of Tarth, her sister's sworn sword, was instructing a gaggle of would-be fighters whose normal foe was probably stubborn roots and their weapon of choice the hoe. At this moment though, they were trying to get used to manoeuvring the short sword. If they had had the time to make new weapons, Arya would have recommended they be given scythes and battle-axes instead, thus utilizing their muscle memories better.

The noble sons weren't much better than their peasant counterparts, flailing their swords around like green boys play fighting with sticks and scarecrows. It was a shameful display, but she considered that not every keep had someone the likes of Rodric Cassel and Syrio Forel to teach them how to stick 'em with the pointy end or anchoring a knocked arrow by chin placement.

In the corner of her eye, though she was watching the noble sons with extreme disapproval, Arya could see the Dragon Queen, again dressed in her black dragon-embroidered northern gown, and her singular braid now void of any silver bells, enter the courtyard, Ghost following her around the same way Nymeria would have followed her. 

The knowledge that Nymeria was living happy and free in the Riverlands with her own pack gave Arya a feeling of peace and contentment, but she also felt a deep sorrow and feeling of rejection after her direwolf had chosen not to come with her. She could understand it. Had the two of them switched places, she probably would have made the same choice. Still, it hurt.

As if on cue, the same wolf that had torn her out of her daydream earlier that morning howled again, and Arya whipped her head around towards the source of the sound. When the howl ended, she looked back at the people in the courtyard. No one else had reacted like her. Lady Brienne was still tutoring steady foot placement, Jon was watching two men practising sword-fighting, every now and then stopping them to give tips, and the Dragon Queen had left the courtyard and headed for the Dothraki camp.

Arya hesitated for a moment, her feet shuffling, before she turned and trudged steadfast towards the Godswood.

Winter truly had come, as her father always said it would. In her childhood days, the snow would fall thick in the courtyard and outside the castle walls in the colder months, but the Godswood would remain evergreen. Now, a thick carpet of snow covered every fir and spruce in here. It was a bit of unfamiliar, a stark reminder of how nothing in her life would ever be the same as back then, but this was still _her_ home, and no amount of time, nor any Lion, flayed man or dragon would be allowed to remove her from these grounds again. 

Eventually, she found herself under the great heart tree, in front of the pond, now covered with a thin sheet of ice. This was the place she could always find her father, tending to Ice, their ancestral Valyrian steel broadsword. The sword that had been used to end his life...

It really was a shame someone had managed to off Joffrey before she had the chance. She would have removed his face and then burnt it, removed his stupid grin from all memory.

Automatically, she nested herself between the roots of the great white tree, leaning her head on the trunk and waiting for her father to begin a tale of brave nights like Arthur Dayne or Duncan the tall. But he never would. His bones lay resting in the crypt, and bones tell no tales.

Sighing, Arya rested against the tree, allowing herself a moment to mourn and miss the deep rumbling voice of the man who would tuck his cape around his little girl and stroke her hair while telling stories about other brave men, long gone.

* * *

Snow crunched under her feet as she flew through the forest. Her breath was heavy as she nimbly weaved through the maze of thick tree trunks. Then, a feeling that made the hair of her neck stand up in anticipation. She turned her eyes to the sky and waited a beat. Then suddenly, a great black shadow darkened the grove, blocking out the daylight as it flew overhead. Yet, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. She stared after it for another moment, watchful in case it decided to come back, then eased her shoulders and looked forward again. To her side a smaller wolf whimpered, and she nudged them affectionately in the neck with her great snout. Then, as if needing to assert that, yes she had just seen the great sky born beast, but these woods were _her_ domain, she let out a great howl, startling Arya Stark from her sleep, miles away, in a different, yet equally sacred, forest.

“ _Nymeria.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 40% of everything (I think) I know about archery comes from The Princess Diaries.


	15. The Bastard Stag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry takes stock of the events that led him to Winterfell and then Arya blows his mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry for this seemingly endless hiatus! I assure you all, I am constantly working on this story, in my head, but I am no Benoiff and Weiss (that’s right, I’m taking the name “d&d” back. It belongs to tabletop, not asshole Hollywood people) and I’d rather give you something coherent that took forever, than something barely cohesive that took a minute to slap together. After all, isn’t that why we’re all here?
> 
> Ahahaha. I laugh because it’s true and it sucks.
> 
> Anyhow, enjoy ~

The day he was born it had been raining. A great, blessed downpour that washed a week's worth of shit off the streets and left the air smelling almost pure and clear. He didn't remember much of his mother, her having left this world far too early to commit to memory, but some of the women who helped raise him, women who had worked with his mother and thus knew her, said that she had called raindrops against their tiled roof the music of the Gods and that she had sung along with the rhythm when putting him to sleep. 

The only thing he could personally remember about his mother was that she had blonde hair, but combined with what he had been told about her, the image he had of her in his mind's eye was the likeness of the Mother herself.

Maybe, if his piece of shit, Majesty of a father had been a decent human being and offered some protection to the mothers of his children, Gendry would have more memories of what his mother looked like.

But that was the way of the world. Highborn lords wagged their cocks any way they pleased, and the smallfolk had to work for the consequences. Then, new highborn generations would take over, claiming greatness due to the blood in their veins, as if having a patient mother who put up with her husband's infidelity made them naturally more valuable people.

Gendry was in his smithy, working on turning a big shard of dragon glass into a sword, eyeing the people gathered to train in the courtyard. There were a couple of boys there, young Lords, from the look of their clothing, probably recently risen to their position on the account that their father might have died in one of the many recent battles for power both here and further south.

Those boys were prime examples of what he had just been thinking about. Yes, they might be legitimately sired, and their mother might have been highborn, both those boys didn't stand a candle's chance in a snowstorm if actually called to arms, and Gendry had a feeling that was not where the list of their inadequacies stopped.

Then, a familiar figure swept past and Gendry felt his breath catch. Arya. She must have been there for a while, watching the useless Lordlings prance, and now, having lost patience, she was leaving. From when they were travelling together, years ago, Gendry remembered her having stressed how annoying it was that only her brothers were allowed to learn how to bear arms when she lived in the North. Her mother had tried and tried to teach her more lady-like skills, but Arya simply never showed an aptitude for it. Or at least that's how she felt.

Gendry figured that with her sister being so proficient at the feminine crafts, Arya had a high benchmark to meet. With a past like that, no wonder it frustrated her to see young men who had every chance to learn from their castle maesters be so lacking. Gendry understood though. That was perhaps a good thing from being lowborn. He understood that Catelyn Stark had only wished to equip her daughter with the skills she would need in adult life, as the life as a wife was the most likely outcome for a noble's daughter. Times sure had changed, though.

The morning passed like the one before, with dragon glass, dragon glass and yet more dragon glass. Fashioned into short swords, long swords, battle axes, arrow heads, spear heads and what have you. Smiths from the Dothraki camp had joined them too and were showing them how to forge arakhs; Gendry didn’t even know the Dothraki had smiths up until that point, though he figured it made sense. After all, _someone_ had to forge those weapons too. Even horse lord’s swords didn’t grow out of the ground.

At one point, he saw Lady Sansa, Arya’s older sister march through the courtyard in a huff, and although huff and discontent seemed to be this woman’s default setting, Gendry could tell her huffiness level was significantly raised. He wondered for a moment what could have set her off, _this time_ , when he heard a Dothraki smith (he had said his name was Maron? Magron? Margron? The guttural consonants of the Dothraki language confused Gendry) chuckle behind him. _“Jinak toki vikeesi dirge anna laz kishi Khaleesi,”_ he commented mid-chuckle, and the other Dothraki men in the forge roared with laughter and voiced their agreements.

Gendry blinked, confused. Maron looked at him, a twinkle in his eye and smiled, then waved his hand in a dismissive, yet good-natured manner, as if to say “you don’t understand, but I can’t translate, so don’t worry about it”. In return, Gendry shrugged and returned the smile before returning to his thoughts. Obviously he didn’t know Dothraki, but he had recognised the word “Khaleesi”. It was the word the Dothraki, and Ser Jorah, used when talking about the Queen. Had Lady Sansa been to see the Queen? Well then it was no wonder she was annoyed.

For days now, Gendry had watched from the corners as the Lady of Winterfell and the Dragon Queen had played the political game, and so far it seemed they wouldn’t even be able to agree on what shape the table had. One would say square, and the other would say rectangle, and they both would be right, but neither would back down, and then they’d squint at each other until Lord Tyrion would suggest that no matter the shape of the table, it would be able to hold up a pitcher of wine, at which the Dragon Queen would roll her eyes and everyone assembled would be able to breathe again as the tension in the room deflated.

If they all survived this, the remaining nobles of Westeros would have quite the knot to untie after all these years of political unrest, and Gendry was relieved in his knowledge that he would have no part in it. The only thing that interested him in all this was _her_ , and even she was a distant dream to him. Deep down he knew, that when the time came, she would do her duty and remain in the ranks for which she was born, and so would he. She would become some Lord’s wife, and he would return to his trade among the small folk. And although he knew that he poor sod that tried making Arya Stark his pretty, little, submissive Lady would be in for a rude awakening, the thought of that other man existing at all, being allowed to have and hold and cherish such a woman so far out of reach of Gendry’s fingertips, put a wrench in his gut.

But that was a problem for the future. One nobody even knew they had. Nothing was promised beyond next week, and thus they found themselves in a weird limbo, where the lines of class and rank were blurred. And in that limbo, he had a shot. And he was determined to take it. He didn’t care if, after the war, Lady Sansa would have him flogged for having dared dream so far above his station, because it would be worth it. If he could have one moment with Arya, where he would be allowed to call her his, and she would call him hers, and _mean it_ , then it would be worth it. Worth any punishment.

His thoughts went to his father again; how different things would have been if he had been acknowledged as his son. Sure, he’d still be a bastard, but he’d be a royal bastard. He would have been able to afford medicine for his mother. He wouldn’t have learnt smithing, which would have been a shame because he quite liked the craft, but he’d be versed in literature, in music, in combat. His father had been a great warrior in his time, they said. Too bad great warrior didn’t necessarily mean decent ruler. He would have learned languages; Valyrian, like the Queen spoke with her dark-skinned, golden-eyed friend, and her dragons. The men behind him had started singing in their strange language. He figured he probably wouldn’t have, even with his father’s acknowledgement, had the opportunity to learn Dothraki. After all, Westeros had rarely dealt with their kind, if ever, even, before the Dragon Queen showed up with the entire horde.

But, he realised sadly, what did it all matter? Even as a royal bastard, he’d never have a shot at marrying a Stark of Winterfell. Even among the highborn, they were too lofty for him. He sighed.

Then _she_ cleared her throat.

Having been lost in his own thoughts while working, he hadn’t noticed her until she was sitting there on the workbench, her legs swinging freely and her short frame for once elevated so that their eyes were more or less level. He had a feeling that this had been her intention.

“Finished my weapon yet?” She asked, casually.

Casually?! All day Arya Stark had been dancing around in his mind’s eye; sword in hand and occasionally threatening to kill him, mind you, but she’d been there. And now she was here. Right next to him. All he had to do was reach out and touch her. And she wouldn’t flinch. She wouldn’t move out of the way. Be it stubbornness, or defiance, or bloodlust or desire that matched his, that he wouldn’t know. But she would not have moved.

He cleared his throat and croaked out “Just as soon as I'm done making a few thousand of these,” as casually as he could possibly muster and holding up the dragon glass spear head he was working on; his 19th only that morning.

He failed, at being casual that is. That much was obvious, but either she was too lost in thought about something else, or she was simply gracious enough to ignore it. Gods in hell, she was beautiful.

Arya took the spear head he had been holding out of his hand to appraise it, her fingers brushing lightly against his as she did. A tingle shot through his spine at the touch. Had she meant to do it? “You should make mine first,” she muttered as she regarded it closely, then handed it back to him, matter of fact edit. Their fingers did not touch this time. “And make sure it's stronger than this.”

Gendry smiled nervously and nodded, replying the only way he could when it came to her: “As my Lady commands.”

He saw her flinch at that. He didn’t think he could ever tire of seeing it; how his words could have such an effect on her. Arya offered a small smile in reply, as if she was coming to terms with her fate. Gendry decided that it was the entire “my Lady” part she was warming up to. _His_ Lady. Not just a Lady in general. They were in limbo, remember? He had to claim his victories where he could.

Reinvigorated with self-confidence from this thought, he brought the spear head down onto the work bench so that it stood straight on its own. “It’s strong enough,” he replied.

Arya shrugged and jumped down from the bench. His hand opened and flexed at his side. Out of his reach. She circled him at only a foot’s distance and moved to the pile of finished dragon glass spear heads that he had been working on thus far.

“It's going to be safer if you go to Bear Island, you know.” He said, if only to move his tongue and avoid having his mouth dry out. In reply, she cocked an eyebrow and stared pointedly at him. “Are you going to Bear Island?”

“No, but-“

“But you're a fighter.” He stared at her, she stared out the window. At the _Lordlings _.__ “So am I, so why should I hide away?”

She shifted and looked up at him for a moment.

“I’ve done my share.” Was all he could reply with. Arya nodded, then turned her head and looked out the window again, her gaze growing long. “You've fought them?” Obviously she wasn’t talking about the Lordlings, even though she was turned towards them, and memories Gendry wished could be purged from his mind welled up inside him; memories of frozen flesh and glowing, blue eyes.

He turned so he could lean his back against the bench and brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if that could help him chase the mental images away. “I did. Some of them.”

“How many?” Arya’s voice was devoid of emotion now. She was simply doing the math in her head, Gendry could see that, preparing herself, planning her strategy for the battle looming in their near future.

“A few. That was enough.”

“What are they like?”

“Bad. Really bad.”

"Really bad?” Her gaze snapped to him and he felt captured, stunned. “Even a smith's apprentice can do better than "really bad." What do they look like? What do they smell like? How do they move? How hard are they to kill?”

He hated this. The thought of her going up against those monsters. He didn’t for a second think she wasn’t fierce enough. Seven hells, she’d probably last longer than he could ever hope to, but at the end of the day, when the battle was won, and whatever fate might have befell him, he hoped she would be alive, and unharmed, and sane enough to tell the tale. He couldn’t guarantee he would be, even if he lived.

“Look,” he started, trying his genuinely best not to sound condescending, “I know you want to fight. And I know you're not scared of rapers or murderers or-This is different. This is-this is death. You want to know what they're like? Death. That's what they're like.”

Arya regarded him for a moment, then the tension left her shoulders. She turned around and picked up one of the spearheads, turning it in her hand. “I know death.”

At the utterance of the word “death”, the spearhead soared through the air and impaled itself on a wooden beam. Arya continued to speak:”He's got many faces.”

Another spearhead, Gendry didn’t even notice her picking it up, stuck itself right next to the first. In a flash, the forge became completely quiet and everyone was looking at Arya. The Lady herself didn’t make any notice of this, as if this show of competency was all for him and picked up a third spearhead.The other people present in the room might as well be furniture as far as she was concerned. He swallowed hard. The third spearhead flew through the air and lodged itself right next to the other two. Arya lowered her throwing arm slowly and looked up at him, making direct eye contact. “I look forward to seeing this one.”

Outside the forge, you could hear the clanging of swords, the groaning of green boys, and the exasperation of their instructors, but inside the forge, it was so quiet that if a fly farted, you’d hear it as loud and clear as a dragon’s roar.

“My weapon?”

“I'll get right on it.”

Arya nodded, then left, the back of her hand, _and he swore he didn’t make this up,_ brushing his as she passed him.

The silence was deafening for a beat after she had left. The men stood silent as if made of stone, then slowly, the smirking and the cheering blew a hole in the ceiling. A few of the Dothraki men - the only ones present with no notion of class distinctions - came up to him, patted him on the back with _knowing_ smirks, and then they all resumed with their work.

Gendry stood still, smiling nervously, his mind a raging inferno. He needed a cold shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am no English expert, but I think a square is any shape with four corners, whilst a rectangle is the one where two and two sides are alike? You know, like a milk carton? But I’ve also heard that a square is when all sides are alike, like the face of a d6 dice? 
> 
> If so, what umbrella term is correct to use for them both?


End file.
